“Mr. Saunders, I am going to ask a favor of you.  I do not know how long I may be away, and my parish is unattended.  The Bishop is here to-day on his Confirmation tour, and I am going to take Mr. Griffin with me and call on him.  Will you remain here in charge of our effects?”

“Sure, Father.  Go on.”  He glanced toward the bulletin board.  “The Limited is late, and you have more than an hour yet.  I’ll telegraph for sleeper reservations.”

Father Murray and Mark started out for the rectory.  Very little was said on the way.  The priest was sad and downcast, Mark scarcely less so.

“I almost fear to meet the Bishop, Mark,” Father Murray remarked, as they approached the rectory, “after that shock the other day; but I suppose it has to be done.”

The Bishop was alone in his room and sent for them to come up.  There was a trace of deep sorrow in his attitude toward the priest, joined to surprise at the visit.  To Mark he was most cordial.

“My Lord,” the priest began, “circumstances compel me to go to Washington for a few days, perhaps longer.  My parish is unattended.  The matter which calls me is urgent.  Could you grant me leave of absence, and send someone to take my place?”

The Bishop glanced at Mark before he answered.  Mark met his gaze with a smile that was full of reassurance.  The Bishop seemed to catch the message, for he at once granted Father Murray’s request.

“Certainly, Monsignore, you may go.  I shall send a priest on Saturday, and telegraph Father Darcy to care for any sick calls in the meantime.”

Mark lingered a moment as Father Murray passed out.  The Bishop’s eyes were appealing, and Mark could not help whispering: 

“It will all come out right, Bishop.  Cease worrying.  When we return I think you will feel happier.  Your message was carried to Monsignore.”

At the station Saunders was waiting.  “Everything is arranged,” he announced.  “I tried to get drawing-rooms or compartments, but they were all gone.  The last was taken five minutes before I telephoned.  I have sections for you both and a lower for myself.  It was the best possible, so late.”

When the train came in and they had disposed of their effects, Father Murray sat down and took out his breviary.  Mark and Saunders, anxious for a smoke, sought the buffet car five coaches ahead.  They sat down and Mark passed the detective his cigarette case.

“Thanks, no,” said Saunders.  “I like the long black fellows best.”  He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lighted it.  He appeared nervous.

“Griffin,” he said, after a long silence, “there is something peculiar about this whole business.”

“Yes, I know that very well.”

“It is quite a little more peculiar than you think.  The abduction of the lady was no surprise to me.  It is quite in line with what I expected.  They had to get her somehow.  The way they are supposed to have taken would probably look the best way to them.”