"This is a nice thing!" said Pratt, looking annoyed, as well he might, seeing that his magnificent gift had disappeared. "I did not know that you had thieves in the parish, Mr Tempest!"
"Neither did I," groaned the vicar, sitting down. "Hitherto we have been singularly exempt from crime. And now one of the very worst sort has befallen us! Not a mere robbery, Mr Pratt. Sacrilege, sir, sacrilege!"
The American turned rather white as Tempest spoke. He had not regarded the robbery save as a common one. The idea that it was sacrilege placed it in a new light. Yet Mr Pratt was sharp enough to have guessed this before. The wonder was that he had not done so.
"What are you going to do?" he asked, after a pause.
"Raston has sent for the police at Portfront. I expect the inspector will come over this afternoon."
Pratt shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think much of the police," he said. "The metropolitan detectives are stupid enough; but the provincial police—oh, Lord! I beg your pardon, Mr Tempest; I forgot myself."
"No matter, no matter," said Tempest, wearily. "I can think of nothing save our great loss. And your gift, too, Mr Pratt! Terrible!"
"Well," said the American, cheerfully, "if this cup can't be found, I guess I must find you another one."
"The cup shall be found," cried the vicar, vehemently. "The culprit must belong to this parish, else he would not have known the lepers' window in the chapel. We shall find the guilty person yet, Mr Pratt."
"I hope so," said Pratt, with another shrug; "but he seems to have got away very cleverly. I shall see you this afternoon when you interview the inspector, Mr Tempest. I should like to have a hand in the discovery."