"Will they be back to-night?"
"I 'ope not," said the woman.
"Why do you hope not?" asked the wretched bishop.
"Because of fifteen bob a week, to be sure."
"Then Mrs. Bramwell has gone, has left?"
"Ain't I been sayin' so this last hour?" asked the exasperated old person. "Me, with rheumatics, standin' on cold stones for hours arglin' that she and all have gone in engines!"
"Good heavens!" said the bishop, "she has escaped! She has eluded us! She has kept her word and has fled! This is remarkable; it is annoying. I feel nearer losing my temper than I have done with any one but the dean for the last ten years. I must go back and tell them."
He went back to the gate.
"Is it—" they cried.
"This is her house," said the bishop, who looked rather flushed, "but I have discovered by a series of skilfully devised questions that she is no longer here. Duchess, Lord Bradstock, marquis, and gentlemen, she went away this morning in two motorcars with all her household, leaving behind her no one but a caretaker who, in my humble opinion, ought to be taken care of in an idiot asylum!"