'Merrett--James Merrett. And yours?' 'I am Father Anthony Coppard. Now that I regard you more attentively, I perceive that the resemblance is greater than I at first realised. You interest me, Mr. Merrett. May I ask you to favour me with your address, so that, perhaps, I may have the pleasure of seeing you again.' 'If you'll let me have yours, I'll come and call on you.' 'You prefer it that way? Well, as you please. I am content. Here is my card, Mr. Merrett. Let me know when you are coming; and--be sure you come.' Father Anthony Coppard bestowed on Mr. Merrett, with his card, a glance which was full of meaning. As the two visitors were going down the steps, Mr. Merrett put up his hand to smooth his chin. He appeared to be lost in a maze of wonder. 'Well, this beats anything I've ever heard of. If I hadn't seen him with my own eyes I wouldn't have believed it--that two men could be so alike. Why, if I hadn't seen him in a looking-glass I might have mistaken him for me.' 'I'm sure I apologise, Mr. Babbacombe, if I seem to have doubted anything you may have said, but as you observed, I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. Nobody could.' 'I'm not surprised that my wife mistook that man for me; and although it seems to be against nature, upon my word I'm not surprised.' 'It would have been surprising if she hadn't.' 'You've hit it--it would. Mr. FitzHoward, you're a level-headed man, and always have been, so that when you talked to me in the way you did do, it was beyond me altogether. But now I understand what you were driving at; and I find I have to thank you for affording me an opportunity to throw light upon a matter which, had it remained wrapped in mystery, might have been against me all my life--and poisoned it, FitzHoward--poisoned it.' 'I'm sure, Mr. Babbacombe, you're welcome to anything I may have done, and it's very handsome of you to put it in that way.' 'Don't mention it, Fitz, my dear old boy; don't mention it.' Putting out his hand, Mr. Merrett squeezed Mr. FitzHoward's arm in a way which was eloquent of what he felt. Presently he added another remark: 'I wonder what he was saying to that priest?' For the first time, perhaps, he spoke the truth. He really did wonder. The twinkle which had been in the father's eyes he did not understand. CHAPTER XXXIV THE PENITENT