"But—I wanted to ask you——"
She paused, biting her lips, and the prelate went on serenely.
"I have been told of your very great kindness to the suspected young woman who was in the carriage with us. I feel sure you acted in a sweet, pitying spirit, but you can hardly realize, my child, as one in my position does, the unwisdom of accepting too readily the unconfirmed statements of—er—shall I say plausible strangers. By the way do you happen to know what has become of this Jenny Regan?"
"Why—she told me—she spoke of living in New York, and—I think she was—going back there."
Betty's distress of mind was so evident that the bishop must surely have noticed it had it not been for the sudden entrance of Bob Baxter, whose pale face and disturbed manner showed that something serious had happened.
"I've been talking to the detective," he explained, "and—I want to apologize to both of you in advance, and especially to you, Betty, for what the man is going to say. He insists on coming in here, and—if I had my way I'd chuck him out of the house, but—he comes as an officer of the law, and I suppose I have no choice but to let him do what he considers his duty."
"Quite right," nodded the bishop. "We must respect the law."
Betty stared, white faced, before her while young Baxter went to the door and showed in the detective. Grimes had left his cigar outside.
"All right. Go ahead," said Bob with a contemptuous glance at the newcomer. "Only, please make it as short as possible."
"I'm not in the habit of wasting words, Mr. Baxter," answered Grimes curtly.