My uncle found my words more interesting than those of Mephistopheles.
"You are dreaming, Frank."
"No. I am sure that it was he."
"So far from Dover? Is it likely he would turn up in this out-of-the-way place?"
"It isn't a question of what he is likely to do; it's a question of what he has done. He is here. That's a fact. For aught we know to the contrary he may be an Italian. Now I come to think of it his voice had a foreign accent."
"Where is he now?" asked my uncle, looking all around the cathedral.
"He went with the priest through that door-way," I answered, and I told him of what had taken place at the confessional box.
"What are we to do?" my uncle asked.
"We must not let him go without having a word from him," I answered. "Wait at the sacristy door and speak to him as he comes out, and learn—what you can. I will walk to the aisles yonder, for should he see me he will be suspicious of you. We won't say anything to Daphne about this yet."