"But really," began the Vicar. "No doubt he's slipped away from confinement." "I do not altogether accept...." "You will. If not, there's the police, and failing that, advertisement; but, of course, his people may want to hush it up. It's a sad thing in a family...." "He seems so altogether...." "Probably you'll hear from his friends in a day or so," said the Doctor, feeling for his watch. "He can't live far from here, I should think. He seems harmless enough. I must come along and see that wing again to-morrow." He slid off the hall table and stood up. "Those old wives' tales still have their hold on you," he said, patting the Vicar on the shoulder. "But an angel, you know--Ha, ha!" "I certainly _did_ think...." said the Vicar dubiously. "Weigh the evidence," said the Doctor, still fumbling at his watch. "Weigh the evidence with our instruments of precision. What does it leave you? Splashes of colour, spots of fancy--_muscae volantes_." "And yet," said the Vicar, "I could almost swear to the glory on his wings...." "Think it over," said the Doctor (watch out); "hot afternoon--brilliant sunshine--boiling down on your head.... But really I _must_ be going. It is a quarter to five. I'll see your--angel (ha, ha!) to-morrow again, if no one has been to fetch him in the meanwhile. Your bandaging was really very good. I flatter _myself_ on that score. Our ambulance classes _were_ a success you see.... Good afternoon." THE CURATE. XV. The Vicar opened the door half mechanically to let out Crump, and saw Mendham, his curate, coming up the pathway by the hedge of purple vetch and meadowsweet. At that his hand went up to his chin and his eyes grew perplexed. Suppose he _was_ deceived. The Doctor passed the Curate with a sweep of his hand from his hat brim. Crump was an extraordinarily clever fellow, the Vicar thought, and knew far more of anyone's brain than one did oneself. The Vicar felt that so acutely. It made the coming explanation difficult. Suppose he were to go back into the drawing-room, and find just a tramp asleep on the hearthrug. Mendham was a cadaverous man with a magnificent beard. He looked, indeed, as though he had run to beard as a mustard plant does to seed. But when he spoke you found he had a voice as well. "My wife came home in a dreadful state," he brayed out at long range. "Come in," said the Vicar; "come in. Most remarkable occurrence. Please come in. Come into the study. I'm really dreadfully sorry. But when I explain...." "And apologise, I hope," brayed the Curate. "And apologise. No, not that way. This way. The study." "Now what _was_ that woman?" said the Curate, turning on the Vicar as the latter closed the study door. "What woman?" "Pah!" "But really!" "The painted creature in light attire--disgustingly light attire, to speak freely--with whom you were promenading the garden." "My dear Mendham--that was an Angel!" "A very pretty Angel?"