"That amounts to a command."
Brother Copas pulled out his watch.
"I may as well warn you," the Chaplain pursued. "You will be questioned on your share in that offensive Petition. As it appears, you were even responsible for composing it."
Brother Copas's eyebrows went up.
"Is it possible, sir, that you recognised the style?… Ah, no; the handwriting must have been your index. The Bishop showed it to you, then?"
"I—er—have been permitted to glance it over."
"Over his shoulder, if I may make a guess," murmured Brother Copas, putting his watch away and searching for his snuff-box.
"Anyway, you signed it: as Bon—as Brother Bonaday here was too sensible to do: though," added Mr. Colt, "his signature one could at least have respected."
Brother Copas tapped his snuff-box, foreseeing comedy.
"And why not mine, sir?"