Hendle shrugged his shoulders, wondering if it would be necessary to lock up Titus in a lunatic asylum. He appeared to be quite crazy, and talked in so confused and contradictory a manner that no meaning could be extracted from his speech. Evidently his brain was far gone in decay, and although so far he had kept his legs, he would shortly be bedridden. Ark's office as sexton was a sinecure, as his grandson, an active young fellow, dug the graves, and attended to funeral details. The activities of Titus were confined to appearing in the churchyard and telling what he knew about the deceased. On the whole, the old creature was harmless enough, so Rupert banished from his mind the idea of shutting him up, satisfied that, so long as his grandson looked after him, he could be permitted to be at large. Ark's incomprehensible talk reminded Hendle of Wordsworth's poem--"We Are Seven." No more than the child therein could Titus understand what death meant. And this was strange, considering that he was an old and accomplished sexton. However, Rupert had more important things with which to employ his mind than in thinking about the babble of the ancient. He forgot all about Ark when he came in sight of the station, the more readily when he saw Carrington on the lookout for him. The train had arrived early, and the barrister was waiting for his friend's arrival. After greetings, Carrington linked his arm within that of his old school-friend, and they sauntered leisurely toward The Big House. "That was a strange letter you wrote me, Hendle," said Carrington, when the two settled into their stride. "I could scarcely believe it." "Why not? I wrote plainly enough." "Oh, yes. But I never thought that my idea of risk to you would ever become an established fact so soon. It's queer that Mrs. Beatson should have listened on that particular night to that particular conversation." "Well, you see, she got it into her head that I intended to dismiss her when I married Dorinda, and so kept her ears open to hear if I spoke to the vicar about my intention. As a matter of fact, I had no idea of turning her away." "_Then_, you had not. But now?" "She must go," said Rupert shortly. "I can't have a spy at my elbow." "Have you said anything to her?" "No! She is quite in the dark as to her treachery having been discovered." Carrington thought for a few moments. "If Mallien goes to the police, she will then learn that you know how she has behaved." "Mallien is not going to the police," said Rupert, quietly. "But I thought you said in your letter that he had given you one week to----" "Yes, yes," interrupted the younger man, "I did say so, and such was the case when I wrote. But circumstances have changed since then, thanks to Dorinda." "Miss Mallien? What has she to do with the matter?" "A great deal. Last night she came over, as her father had told her about the will. I was forced to tell her that Mallien threatened to accuse me of the murder."