criminal, this Parson Homo who can help; I am satisfied that he
does not know where the girl is--but he'll help for a consideration. As
a matter of fact, he was pulled again. I am seeing him this afternoon."

Mr. Kitson frowned.

"The gunman--how can he help you?"

"I will tell you. This man, as I say, is known to the police as Parson
Homo. Apparently he is an unfrocked priest, one who has gone under. He
still preserves the resemblance to a gentleman"--he spoke slowly and
deliberately; "in decent clothes he would look like a parson. I propose
that he shall marry me to Miss Cresswell. The marriage will be a fake,
but neither the girl nor van Heerden will know this. If my surmise is
right, when van Heerden finds she is married he will take no further
steps--except, perhaps," he smiled, "to make her a widow. Sooner or
later we are bound to get him under lock and key, and then we can tell
Miss Cresswell the truth."

"In other words, you intend breaking the law and committing a serious
offence," said Kitson, shaking his head. "I can't be a party to
that--besides, she may not marry you."

"I see that danger--van Heerden is a mighty clever fellow. He may be
married before I trace them."

"You say that Homo doesn't know about the girl, what does he know?"

"He has heard of van Heerden. He has heard probably from the girl Hilda
Glaum that van Heerden is getting married--the underworld do not get
their news out of special editions--he probably knows too that van
Heerden is engaged in some swindle which is outside the parson's line of
business."

"Will he help you?"

"Sure," Beale said with quiet confidence, "the man is broke and
desperate. The police watch him like a cat, and would get him sooner or
later. McNorton told me that much. I have offered him passage to
Australia and L500, and he is ready to jump at it."

"You have explained the scheme?"

"I had to," confessed Beale, "there was no time to be lost. To my
surprise he didn't like it. It appears that even a double-dyed crook has
scruples, and even when I told him the whole of my plan he still didn't
like it, but eventually agreed. He has gone to Whitechapel to get the
necessary kit. I am putting him up in my flat. Of course, it may not be
necessary," he went on, "but somehow I think it will be."

Kitson spread out his hands in despair.

"I shall have to consent," he said, "the whole thing was a mistake from
the beginning. I trust you, Stanford," he went on,