Eleanor came furtively in search of her mistress and found her in
Gordon’s room, valiantly overhauling his wardrobe.
“The clergyman, miss,” she said, with an air of mystery that was
natural.
The well-trained servant has an air appropriate to the calling of every
visitor. Dread and a funereal solemnity for doctors, a primness for
elderly ladies, a suppressed blitheness to announce the young, mystery
for the clergy; only a lawyer baffles interpretation. The secret
dispositions of lawyers have never been probed.
“The clergyman!” Diana’s heart fell.
“A priest, ma’am, by his clothes,” said Eleanor.
She was a Primitive Methodist and was secretly thrilled by priests and
nuns.
Not before had Diana considered Mr. Dempsi’s sectarian leanings. Nor had
she before had sufficient confidence to meet the man whom she guessed
had been sent by Dempsi to arrange the details of her servitude.
“I will come down,” she said, and took the card from Eleanor’s hand.
She read the few printed words carefully, then she read them again and
passed her hand over her eyes.
“Father Guiseppi Dempsi, Vicar of Banhurst.”
“Father Guiseppi Dempsi!” she said aloud, and in another second was
flying down the stairs.
She recognised him instantly, clean-shaven, dark, the old grin in his
brown eyes. She would have known him even had he not been wearing his
black cassock.
“Diana!” he said. “After all these years!”
“Mr. Dempsi,” she grasped, gripping the thin hand outstretched, “it _is_
you! You don’t know how glad I am to see you!”
Dempsi, the real Dempsi! Then who was the other? The solution of the
mystery came to her in a flash, and in the realisation the whole weight
of the universe was lifted from her heart.
“Father Dempsi!” she said, in a wondering way, still holding his hand.
“It doesn’t seem possible!”
“I was rather a fool, wasn’t I?” he said without any trace of
embarrassment. “Yes, I went into the Church. But I should have let you
know.”
“The money!” she said, suddenly. “The money you gave me--you will want
that?”
He laughed a little sheepishly.
“I wondered if any was left. Honestly, I need money just now. My boys’
club is insolvent and the new church hall wants an organ....”
She nodded. She was still bewildered. Almost hysterical. And then came
an excited Bobbie with a rush, flinging open the door.
“Diana!” he began.
Behind him stood Gordon. A somewhat severely clad Gordon, yet different.
She ran to him--before she realised what happened, she had kissed him.
Gordon returned the kiss without any visible effort.
“Gordon, do you know the Reverend Guiseppi Dempsi? You’ve heard me talk
about Mr. Dempsi?”
Gordon stared at the priest open-mouthed.
“The Reverend Guiseppi Dempsi?” he said. “I thought--er----” He grasped
the hand of the smiling clergyman. “I knew it couldn’t be that little
... how do you do?”
“Diana and I are very old acquaintances--old friends, I ought to say,”
said Dempsi, beaming from one to the other. “Old lovers, I nearly said,
but the love was a little one-sided.” He chuckled.
“Extraordinary!” Gordon could say no more.
“But, Gordon, how is it you’re back? I had a wire this morning from
Inverness. You couldn’t have got back----”
“By aeroplane,” said Gordon without a blush. “I had a feeling that all
was not well with you.”
“Gordon, did you really?” Her colour came and went. “You are psychic,
aren’t you? And Gordon, dear, you’ve had your whiskers shaved!”
He nodded gravely.
“I meant to tell you I intended doing that--you once said that you did
not like them. No more than that was necessary. They vanished in the
twinkling of an eye.”
It was Gordon’s moment. He was colossal.
Eleanor opened the front door to a gentleman who was difficult to place.
“Miss Ford at home?”
“Yes, sir, but she’s engaged.”
The stranger had no visiting-card apparently, for he announced himself.
“I am Inspector Carslake from Scotland Yard,” he said. “I should like to
see the safe that was opened last night. It isn’t necessary to disturb
Miss Ford.”
Eleanor, in a flutter, opened the door wider and showed him into The
Study.
“...leave by the first train,” Mr. Dempsi was saying. “We’ll split
later.”
“We’ll split before we part,” said Heloise firmly, “for fear an accident
happens--to the money.”
The other shrugged.
“I’d hate to have a mind like yours,” he said.
And then the visitor came in. Heloise recognised him before he saw her
face. There was a newspaper within reach, and she snatched it up,
disappeared behind the printed page, and, reading, walked slowly from
The Study into the little library.
“Don’t go,” said Dempsi.
Then he too saw the detective, and here the recognition was mutual.
“The cobwebs on your chin are strangers to me,” said Carslake, “but
that noble brow and those sparkling eyes belong to an old friend of
mine, Dan Throgood, yclept Double Dan.”
“I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake,” said “Dempsi” with some hauteur.
“What you’re afraid of is that I haven’t,” said Carslake, and glanced at
the broken door of the safe. “Your work?”
“No. That’s not my line. You’ve nothing on me, Carslake. I’ve been
staying here as a guest of Mr. Selsbury.”
“And now you’re going to be a guest of the King,” said Carslake,
slipping a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. “I must say, Dan, that you
see life!”
It was later in the day, and from information received, that the
inspector called at 61 Cheynel Gardens to arrest and detain one Sarah
Chowster, British subject _alias_ Heloise van Oynne. But Heloise had
gone. None knew whither.
“Can I see Miss Ford,” he asked, “or Mr. Selsbury?”
Eleanor asked him to wait, and, passing into The Study, listened
intently at the door.
“...I really was going back to Australia, Gordon.”
“I’ll follow you, and if necessary lose myself in the bush,” said
Gordon’s voice.
There was a long silence. Eleanor opened the door an inch and looked.
Then she went back to the detective.
“Mr. Selsbury and Miss Ford are engaged,” she said.
THE END