"And the initials, Alicia?"
"M. S."
Mr. Hedderwick, his head full of romantic notions of chivalry, forgetting the urgent need of circumspection, rose. He advanced toward Beatrice, raised her hand, and, to the horror of his wife, kissed it solemnly. "I beg your pardon," he said; "there is no anticlimax. Now that you know Mizzi is the thief you will want to be off. Good-by and good luck."
They took him at his word and rose.
"Good-by," said Beatrice in the most ordinary voice. "Thank you so much for your help—and yours, too, Mrs. Hedderwick. So sorry we had to break into your house. Good-by. Now, Mr. Mortimer!"
"Good-by," said Lionel; "thanks most awfully. I felt you were a sportsman as soon as I saw you."
They were in the hall by this time, and the magnanimous churchwarden was already opening the door.
"Not at all," he said. "I've had a most interesting night. I wish you'd let me know the end of the tale some day."
"If it is a happy ending, you shall," said Beatrice. She halted a moment, motioned to Lionel to pass out before her, and then turned. "If you see us again, be careful never to recognize or speak to us; it might mean danger—not only to you, but us."
He smiled but said nothing. Beatrice and Lionel moved away in the light of the early dawn. Mr. Hedderwick closed the door gently and stood deep in thought for a moment. "What an adventure ... what a splendid woman ... what a jolly chap!" his thoughts ran. "How different their life from mine! Here am I, tied to the same holiday year after year ... afraid to call my soul my own ... why, why should I not have a holiday on my own account—a holiday ... by myself for once. Something new ... something out of the common...."