“I’ve known that dodge tried before too,” said his obstinate capturer.

Lord Hartledon was growing more angry.  He saw some proof must be tendered before he could regain his liberty.  Jabez Gum happened to be standing at his gate opposite, and he called to him.

“Will you be so kind as to tell this man who I am, Mr. Gum.  He is mistaking me for some one else.”

“This is the Earl of Hartledon,” said Jabez, promptly.

A moment’s hesitation on the officer’s part; but he felt too sure of his man to believe this.  “I’ll take the risk,” said he, stolidly.  “Where’s the good of your holding out, Mr. Elster?”

“Come this way, then!” cried Lord Hartledon, beginning to lose his temper.  “And if you carry this too far, my man, I’ll have you punished.”

He went striding up to the Rectory.  Had he taken a moment for consideration, he might have turned away, rather than expose this misfortune of Val’s there.  The doctor came into the hall, and was recognized as the Rector, and there was some little commotion; Anne’s white face looking on from a distance.  The man was convinced, and took his departure, considerably crestfallen.

“What is the amount?” called the doctor, sternly.

“Not very much, this, sir.  It’s under three hundred.”

Which was as much as to say there was more behind it.  Dr. Ashton mentally washed his hands of Percival Elster as a future son-in-law.

The first intimation that ill-starred gentleman received of the untoward turn affairs were taking was from the Rector himself.

Mr. Percival Elster had been chuckling over that opportune sore throat, as a means of keeping his brother indoors; and it never occurred to him that Lord Hartledon would venture out at all on the Monday.  Being a man with his wits about him, it had not failed to occur to his mind that there was a possibility of Lord Hartledon’s being arrested in place of himself; but so long as Hartledon kept indoors the danger was averted.  Had Percival Elster seen his brother go out he might have plucked up courage to tell him the state of affairs.

But he did not see him.  Lounging idly—­what else had he, a poor prisoner, to do?—­in the sunny society of Maude Kirton and other attractive girls, Mr. Elster was unconscious of the movements of the household in general.  He was in his own room dressing for dinner when the truth burst upon him.

Dr. Ashton was a straightforward; practical man—­it has been already stated—­who went direct to the point at once in any matters of difficulty.  He arrived at Hartledon a few minutes before the dinner-hour, found Mr. Elster was yet in his dressing-room, and went there to him.

The news, the cool, scornful anger of the Rector, the keen question—­“Was he mad?” burst upon the unhappy Val like a clap of thunder.  He was standing in his shirt-sleeves, ready to go down, all but his coat and waistcoat, his hair-brushes in the uplifted hands.  Hands and brushes had been arrested midway in the shock.  The calm clerical man; all the more terrible then because of his calmness; standing there with his cold stinging words, and his unhappy culprit facing him, conscious of his heinous sins—­the worst sin of all:  that of being found out.