Monsignor pursed his lips and shook his head.  He was one of those humble persons as proud of ignorance as others of knowledge.  He boasted that he never read the papers nor any book except those that had received the imprimatur; it was a priest’s business, he often remarked, to preserve the faith, not to acquire worldly knowledge.  Percy had occasionally rather envied his point of view.

“He’s a mystery,” said another priest, Father Blackmore; “but he seems to be causing great excitement.  They were selling his ‘Life’ to-day on the Embankment.”

“I met an American senator,” put in Percy, “three days ago, who told me that even there they know nothing of him, except his extraordinary eloquence.  He only appeared last year, and seems to have carried everything before him by quite unusual methods.  He is a great linguist, too.  That is why they took him to Irkutsk.”

“Well, the Masons—–­” went on Monsignor.  “It is very serious.  In the last month four of my penitents have left me because of it.”

“Their inclusion of women was their master-stroke,” growled Father Blackmore, helping himself to claret.

“It is extraordinary that they hesitated so long about that,” observed Percy.

A couple of the others added their evidence.  It appeared that they, too, had lost penitents lately through the spread of Masonry.  It was rumoured that a Pastoral was a-preparing upstairs on the subject.

Monsignor shook his head ominously.

“More is wanted than that,” he said.

Percy pointed out that the Church had said her last word several centuries ago.  She had laid her excommunication on all members of secret societies, and there was really no more that she could do.

“Except bring it before her children again and again,” put in Monsignor.  “I shall preach on it next Sunday.”

* * * * *

Percy dotted down a note when he reached his room, determining to say another word or two on the subject to the Cardinal-Protector.  He had mentioned Freemasonry often before, but it seemed time for another remark.  Then he opened his letters, first turning to one which he recognised as from the Cardinal.

It seemed a curious coincidence, as he read a series of questions that Cardinal Martin’s letter contained, that one of them should be on this very subject.  It ran as follows: 

“What of Masonry?  Felsenburgh is said to be one.  Gather all the gossip you can about him.  Send any English or American biographies of him.  Are you still losing Catholics through Masonry?”

He ran his eyes down the rest of the questions.  They chiefly referred to previous remarks of his own, but twice, even in them, Felsenburgh’s name appeared.

He laid the paper down and considered a little.

It was very curious, he thought, how this man’s name was in every one’s mouth, in spite of the fact that so little was known about him.  He had bought in the streets, out of curiosity, three photographs that professed to represent this strange person, and though one of them might be genuine they all three could not be.  He drew them out of a pigeon-hole, and spread them before him.