Here his Lordship became speechless, as the truth dawned upon him; and at that moment Marchmont entered the cabin, with Friend Othniel in tow.
"There!" he said, pointing to the ecclesiastic. "Is that the Bishop of Blanford?"
"Naw," replied the tramp. "He's old enough to be his father, he is. The Bishop I means is a young 'un."
"Like this!" cried Violet, opening the locket which Cecil had given her in Montreal, and handing it to the tramp.
"That's him to a T," said Friend Othniel. "I'd know him among a thousand."
For a moment Marchmont said nothing as he encountered the full force of the cruel disillusion, and then with painstaking precision he turned and kicked the tramp up the entire flight of cabin stairs.
"Now," remarked the Bishop, "perhaps you'll allow us to go free."
"No!" cried the journalist, slamming the door. "I've wasted heaps of cash and no end of time over this wild-goose-chase, but the Daily Leader shall have its scoop yet! If you aren't conspirators, I'll make you so, in spite of yourselves! You shall be Spanish spies!"