"Come and look at the atlas," said the bishop, and Bradstock did as he was asked.
The bishop put his finger-tips together and began:
"Bob was following this person named Smith, and went north, did he not? Let us say north. I believe it is technically north by east. He put me out, or, to be fair even to Bob, I got out and was asked to return very casually, north of Spalding in the Boston road, miles from anywhere. This Smith was going back to Penelope. For while Bob and I were away, you got her telegram dated Spilsborough, sent to London and re-telegraphed to you here, saying that she was well, in reply to your Times advertisement. Obviously, Penelope lives somewhere north of the spot where Bob left me without time for argument. Do you follow me?"
"Certainly," said Bradstock. "It is all as clear as quaternions."
"Now we get this very remarkable document from Lincoln."
"We do, bishop."
"It is obvious she doesn't live at Lincoln. She has sent this very fast Smith there to send off Bob's telegram. Is that not so?"
"Of course," said Bradstock.
"Let us imagine that Lincoln is nearly as far from where she is as Spilsborough is."
"Let us imagine it," said Bradstock. "I am willing to imagine it."