nt.

"Sure, I'll go. Train leaves in fifty minutes; you get the Limited at
the Junction--have to wait nearly an hour for the connection, though.
What's up?"

"Hurry! I'll tell you later. Pack only what you need. Here, you pay
the bills." Mark shoved his purse into Saunders' hands. "Keep the
rooms; we'll need them when we return. I'm off. Oh, yes! I forgot."
Mark stopped on his way to the stairs. "Telephone the Padre about the
train."

In good time, Father Murray, Mark and Saunders stood at the end of the
station platform, grips in hand.

"Now, open up," said Saunders. "What's wrong?"

Mark looked inquiringly at the priest. Father Murray briefly gave the
detective a resume of what had occurred, including the information
which had so stunned Mark Griffin, and now had an even more stunning
effect on Saunders, the information regarding the priest's relationship
to Ruth Atheson.

"But, Father, this looks like the impossible. It's unbelievable that
these people could be mistaken about someone they had trailed from
Europe. They were so sure about it that they killed that officer."

"Ruth Atheson is my sister's daughter, Mr. Saunders," was the only
answer vouchsafed by the priest. He boarded the train, followed by his
companions.

Saunders sat in puzzled silence till the junction point was reached.
Then the three alighted, and Father Murray turned to the detective.

"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, perha