Betty started in bewilderment. "But—I don't understand," she said.
Old Bunchester turned to the girl in deep concern. "My dear Miss Thompson, this is exceedingly painful, exceedingly compromising. I beg you most earnestly, in the interest of everyone, in your own interest, to tell us how it comes that this money is found in your desk. You must explain this mystery, indeed you must."
"Hold on!" cried Bob, springing forward, his whole face transfigured, and here it was, in the words of Hiram Baxter, that the boy showed himself a thoroughbred and took the five-bar gate in one clean leap. "Don't say a word, Betty. Don't explain anything. You're the finest, pluckiest girl I ever knew, and right now, without any explanation, I ask you to be my wife."
"Bob!" she cried, and her whole soul was in her eyes.
"It's all right, dear." He stood close beside her and drew her to him protectingly. "There are two of us now." Then, turning to Grimes: "Go ahead with your silly little game."
"All very pretty," sniffed the detective, while the bishop looked on in purple amazement, "but, before we get through with our silly little game you may not find it as silly as you think."
He strode across the library to the foot of the little stair and pointed to the mezzanine door. "If Miss Thompson was so confident that Jenny Regan was a deserving person why did she hide her in that room this morning?"
"What?" cried Bob.
Grimes fixed his hard gaze on Betty. "Do you deny that you hid Hester Storm, otherwise known as Jenny Regan, in that room?"
The girl eyed him steadily. "It's true," she said; "but—I can explain it."