Mason coarsely cursed both the home and its patron. But Grenier laughed pleasantly. "The very thing," he cried. "Look here!" And he pointed to an indorsement by the secretary. "For signature if approved of." "I will sign and return it, with a nice typewritten letter, to-morrow, from York. Abingdon is one of the governors. Oh, I will bamboozle them rarely." "This blooming charity will help you a bit, then?" "Nothing better. Let us go out for a little stroll. Now, don't forget. Address me as 'Mr. Anson.' Get used to it, even if we are alone. And it will be no harm should we happen to meet somebody." They went down the hill and entered the rough country road that wound up from Scarsdale to the cliff. Through the faint light of a summer's night they saw a man approaching. It was a policeman. "_Absit omen_," said Grenier, softly. "What's that?" "Latin for a cop. You complained of my want of nerve. Watch me now." He halted the policeman, and questioned him about the locality, the direction of the roads, the villages on the coast. He explained pleasantly that he was a Londoner, and an utter stranger in these parts. "You are staying at the Grange House, sir?" said the man, in his turn. "Yes. Come here to-day, in fact." "I saw you, sir. Is the gentleman who drove you from Scarsdale staying there, too? I met you on the road, and he seemed to know me." Grenier silently anathematized his carelessness. Policemen in rural Yorkshire were not as common as policemen in Oxford Street. It was the same man whom he had encountered hours ago. "Oh, he is a doctor. Yes, he resides in the Grange House." "You won't find much room for a party there, sir," persisted the constable. "I don't remember the gentleman at all. What is his name?" "Dr. Williams. He is a genial sort of fellow--nods to anybody. Take a cigar. Sorry I can't ask you to go up and have a drink, but there is illness in the place." The policeman passed on. "Illness!" he said, glancing at the gloomy outlines of the farm. "How many of 'em are in t' place. And who's yon dark-lookin' chap, I wonder? My, but his face would stop a clock!" CHAPTER XIX. _Philip Anson Redivivus._ Next morning Mason trudged off to Scarsdale at an early hour. He ascertained that Green had quitted the Fox and Hounds Inn in time to catch the first train. He returned to Grange House with the dogcart and drove Grenier to Scarsdale with his luggage, consisting of Philip's portmanteau and his own, together with a hatbox. He touched his cap to Grenier, when the latter smiled affably on him from the luxury of a first-class carriage, and he pocketed a tip with a grin. A porter was also feed lavishly, and the station master was urbanity itself as he explained the junctions and the time London would be reached.