Then the verdict came in a surprising form.  But he understood it perfectly.

“Well, what about bed?” said Dick quietly.

(IV)

It was on the morning of the twenty-fourth that Mr. Parham-Carter was summoned by the neat maid-servant of the clergy-house to see two gentlemen.  She presented two cards on a plated salver, inscribed with the names of Richard Guiseley and John B. Kirkby.  He got up very quickly, and went downstairs two at a time.  A minute later he brought them both upstairs and shut the door.

“Sit down,” he said.  “I’m most awfully glad you’ve come.  I ...  I’ve been fearfully upset by all this, and I haven’t known what to do.”

“Now where is he?” demanded Jack Kirkby.

The clergyman made a deprecatory face.

“I’ve absolutely promised not to tell,” he said.  “And you know—­”

“But that’s ridiculous.  We’ve come on purpose to fetch him away.  It simply mustn’t go on.  That’s why I didn’t write.  I sent Frank’s letter on to Mr. Guiseley here (he’s a cousin of Frank’s, by the way), and he asked me to come up to town.  I got to town last night, and we’ve come down here at once this morning.”

Mr. Parham-Carter glanced at the neat melancholy-faced, bearded man who sat opposite.

“But you know I promised,” he said.

“Yes,” burst in Jack; “but one doesn’t keep promises one makes to madmen.  And—­”

“But he’s not mad in the least.  He’s—­”

“Well?”

“I was going to say that it seems to me that he’s more sane than anyone else,” said the young man dismally.  “I know it sounds ridiculous, but—­”

Dick Guiseley nodded with such emphasis that he stopped.

“I know what you mean,” said Dick in his gentle drawl.  “And I quite understand.”

“But it’s all sickening rot,” burst in Jack.  “He must be mad.  You don’t know Frank as I do—­neither of you.  And now there’s this last business—­his father’s marriage, I mean; and—­”

He broke off and looked across at Dick.

“Go on,” said Dick; “don’t mind me.”

“Well, we don’t know whether he’s heard of it or not; but he must hear sooner or later, and then—­”

“But he has heard of it,” interrupted the clergyman.  “I showed him the paragraph myself.”

“He’s heard of it!  And he knows all about it!”

“Certainly.  And I understood from him that he knew the girl:  the Rector’s daughter, isn’t it?”

“Knows the girl!  Why, he was engaged to her himself.”

“What?”

“Yes; didn’t he tell you?”

“He didn’t give me the faintest hint—­”

“How did he behave?  What did he say?”

Mr. Parham-Carter stared a moment in silence.

“What did he say?” snapped out Jack impatiently.

“Say?  He said nothing.  He just told me he knew the girl, when I asked him.”