"Where is he?
Hiding under the table?"

"My dear madam," expostulated the vicar, suppressing a wish to get there
himself, so alarming was her eye, "do you imagine----"

"I want to know where he _is_!" interrupted the lady, still dangerously
calm and determined. "Mrs. Peters most kindly--_most_ kindly telephoned
to say that he was in Shereling, and she has just said that she left him
here. Where is he?"

"He has gone," said the vicar dreamily, looking out of the window and
wondering whether Robert had reached The Happy Heart. A good runner, he
reflected, might perhaps have succeeded, but Mr. Bangs was no longer
young.

"_Gone!_" ejaculated both ladies together, and for once in his life the
amiable clergyman had the satisfaction of communicating dramatic and
exclusive news.

"Gone!" repeated Mrs. Peters. "Oh, Charles! Where? How?"

"Gone!" said Mrs. Hedderwick, with a rising inflection. "You have
helped----"

"How could I detain him?" urged the vicar, retreating behind a chair.
"Why blame me? Could I be expected to keep him here by force? If Mr.
Hedderwick preferred to depart by the buttery hatch----"

"The buttery hatch."

"Let me show you," said the vicar helpfully, thinking that a
reconstruction of the crime might divert a morbid interest in himself.
"You see here it is, behind the screen. Mr. Hedderwick opened it,
climbed through----"

"I do not believe it! It is too small for----"

"My dear madam," expostulated the vicar warmly, annoyed at having his
veracity impugned, "I assure you it _was_ so. Try for yourself!"

In her rage Mrs. Hedderwick raised her arm as if to strike the impious
suggester. Mrs. Peters interposed, as the vicar quailed, and the
situation was saved.

"Charles! What an indelicate thought! Imagine a lady like Mrs.
Hedderwick _crawling_----"

The vicar had been through an anxious quarter of an hour. His nerves
were on strings, and at any moment the tension might prove too strong.
Had he been master of himself--had he possessed no sense of humor--had
his late guest not presented so ridiculous an appearance in his exit,
all might have yet been well. But the image projected upon his brain by
the words of his wife (who had but an imperfect sympathy with comedy)
was too much. He did not roar aloud, as he could have wished, but he
buried his face in his hands and leaned upon the mantelpiece. The
heaving of the shoulders gave evidence of his emotion.

"I think," said Mrs. Hedderwick, af