Lionel did not move, but his face darkened. During the recital he had felt a warm glow of faith pervade his whole being, a glow that was not diminished by the contemplation of Beatrice. By the time she had finished he was a devout adherent, and now the shock of disillusion swung him back once more to the certainty of doubt. He did not speak, but his eyes sought hers in a question he could not put into words. The lady alone seemed unembarrassed. She gave a regretful sigh.
"There is no anticlimax," she said. "Rather it is the thickening of the plot. Of course they have been taken by Mizzi. Has she been there recently—yesterday?"
"Not that I know of," he returned blankly. "It's possible, I suppose ... anyhow, it's not a bad idea for ... for a story, but...."
"I see you disbelieve still," said Beatrice with a calm disdain. "I had no idea men could be so stupid. I suppose there is nothing for it but to wake Mrs. Hedderwick and ask her."
The churchwarden sat down suddenly, as if his knees had given way. "Wake Mrs. Hedderwick!" he repeated in a ghastly voice: "wake my wife! Oh, no! It is impossible—quite out of the question!"
"Not at all. She will know whether any one has called here, and in justice to my veracity you must ask her. I insist! Remember our freedom is at stake."
Mr. Hedderwick rose, pale but determined.
"I beg your pardon," he said politely. "Will you please go at once? I have not the least intention of prosecuting, and I swear that I believe your story. Only will you please go at once?"
Lionel chuckled, amused and grateful.
"This is hardly fair, sir," he said. "You forget that we want information as to where those papers may have gone. If your wife could tell us whether any one has called and what his or her appearance——"