“But there was no need to when he was here,” insisted Marie. “No. But as I said before Simon Ferrier undoubtedly was an over-cautious man; witness the fact that he made so ingenious a cryptogram—if it can be called so—that even the man he designed to benefit could not solve it. And in its very ease lay its difficulty. I can’t answer your question in any other way, dear. Not that it matters. We have the money, and everything is right, so let us enjoy our good fortune, and be thankful that none of those wasteful ancestors of yours solved the riddle. Had they done so I fear you would not be so rich.” “I think that is very true,” said Marie with a laugh; “but here we are, darling, and there is Mr. Latimer.” It was indeed Dick arrayed in white flannels looking big and burly and genial, and more like a good-natured bear than ever. He held out a hand to each at the same time, and walked towards the house between them. “How are the happy pair?” he asked gaily. “We won’t be a truly happy pair until to-morrow,” said Alan. “Speak for yourself, dear,” said Marie lightly. “I am happy enough now.” “You deserve to be,” said Dick smiling, “for you have come through a lot of trouble, and that always makes hearts grow fonder. But do come and give me some tea, Mrs. Fuller—I beg your pardon, Miss Inderwick, but you and Alan do look just like a married couple.” “What’s that about marriage?” asked the vicar appearing at the drawing-room door—the trio were in the house by this time, “have Marie and Alan been studying the prayer-book.” “Of course,” said the girl, running forward to kiss Mrs. Fuller. “I know the ceremony by heart.” “It’s more than I do,” wailed Latimer with a shrug, “and as best man, I am sure to be a dismal failure.” “Oh you’ll pull through somehow,” the future bridegroom assured him. “You must give me hints then. And when you are off for your honeymoon to Cornwall, I shall find it dismal in those Barkers Inn chambers all alone.” “Get married yourself then,” advised the vicar. “Upon my word I must think seriously about it,” said Dick. “What do you say, Mrs. Fuller. Can’t you find me a nice girl?” “Not one so nice as Marie,” said Mrs. Fuller, looking fondly at the graceful form of Miss Inderwick as her hands hovered over the tea-cups. “No, I agree with you there, mother,” said Alan, taking up a plate of bread and butter; “Marie is a rare bird.” “A rare bird indeed. Why not a peacock?” Mrs. Fuller shuddered. “Oh don’t talk of peacocks!” “Why not?” asked the vicar, “all the happiness of the present is really due to the peacock. Marie, my dear,” he observed as he took his tea, “I used to laugh at the idea of your fetish, but really things have come about so strangely that I think there is something in it.” “Behold our benefactor,” cried Alan, pointing towards the bay-window at the end of the vast room, and there on a pedestal under a glass case was the famous bird, which had to do with so strange a history.