A voice broke in upon his thoughts as they were tearing through the wide-spread slums of Bethnal Green. "Do you mind if I smoke, sir? This isn't a smoking carriage, but we are alone----" It was an ordinary query enough. "Oh, dear, no!" said the priest. "Please do, to your heart's content. It doesn't inconvenience _me_." Father Ripon's quick, breezy manner seemed to interest the stranger. He looked up and saw a personality. Obviously this clergyman was some one of note. The heavy brows, the hawk-like nose, the large, firm, and yet kindly mouth, all these seemed familiar in some vague way. For his part, Father Ripon experienced much the same sensation as he glanced at the tall stranger. His hair, which could be seen beneath his ordinary hard felt hat, was dark red and somewhat abundant. His features were Semitic, but without a trace of that fulness, and often coarseness, which sometimes marks the Jew who has come to the period of middle life. The large black eyes were neither dull nor lifeless, but simply cold, irresponsive, and alert. A massive jaw completed an impression which was remarkable in its fineness and almost sinister beauty. The priest found it remarkable but with no sense of strangeness. He had seen the man before. Recognition came to Schuabe first. "Excuse me," he said, "but surely you are Father Ripon? I am Constantine Schuabe." Ripon gave a merry chuckle. "I knew I knew you!" he said, "but I couldn't think quite who you were for a moment. Sir Michael tells me you're going to Fencastle; so am I." Schuabe leaned back in his seat and regarded Father Ripon with a steady and calm scrutiny, somewhat with the manner of a naturalist examining a curious specimen, with a suggestion of aloofness in his eyes. Suddenly Father Ripon smiled rather sternly, and the deep furrows which sprang into his cheeks showed the latent strength and power of the face. "Well, Mr. Schuabe," he said abruptly, "the train doesn't stop anywhere for an hour, so willy-nilly you're locked up with a priest!" "A welcome opportunity, Father Ripon, to convince one that perhaps the devil isn't as black as he's painted." "I've read your books," said Ripon, "and I believe you are sincere, Mr. Schuabe. It's not a personal question at all. At the same time, if I had the power, you know I should cheerfully execute you or imprison you for life, not out of revenge for what you have done, but as a precautionary measure. You should have no further opportunity of doing harm." He smiled grimly as he spoke. "Rather severe, Father," said Schuabe laughing. "Because I find that in a rational view of history there is no place for a Resurrection and Ascension you would give me your blessing and an _auto da fé_!" "I rather believe in stern measures, sometimes," answered the clergyman, with an underlying seriousness, though he spoke half in jest. "Not for _all_ heretics, you know--only the dangerous ones."