Father Burrowes was transported to the days of his youth at Malta when his own imagination was filled with visions of precious metals, of rare fabrics and mighty architecture.

“A silver chalice of severe pattern encrusted round the stem with blue zircons,” Brother Anthony was chanting in his melodious voice, his eyes bright with the reflection of celestial splendours.  “And perhaps another in gold with the sacred monogram wrought on the cup in jacinths and orange tourmalines.  Yes, I’ll talk it over with Sir Charles and get him to approve the design.”

The next morning two detectives came to Malford Abbey, and arrested Aubrey Wyon alias Brother Anthony for obtaining money under false pretences in various parts of the world.  With them he departed to prison and a life more ascetic than any he had hitherto known.  Brother Anthony departed indeed, but he was not discredited until it was too late.  His grandiose projects and extravagant promises had already incited Father Burrowes to launch out on several new building operations that the Order could ill afford.

Perhaps the cloister had been less like the Cave of Aladdin than the Cave of the Forty Thieves.

After Christmas another Chapter was convened, to which Brother Anselm and Brother Chad were both bidden.  The Father Superior addressed the brethren as he had addressed them a year ago, and finished up his speech by announcing that, deeply as he regretted it, he felt bound to propose that the Aldershot priory should be closed.

“What?” shouted Brother Anselm, leaping to his feet, his eyes blazing with wrath through his great horn spectacles.

The Prior quickly rose to say that he could not agree to the Reverend Father’s suggestion.  It was impossible for them any longer to claim that they were an active Order if they confined themselves entirely to the Abbey.  He had not opposed the shutting down of the Sandgate priory, nor, he would remind the Reverend Father, had he offered any resistance to the abandonment of Malta.  But he felt obliged to give his opinion strongly in favour of making any sacrifice to keep alive the Aldershot priory.

Brother George had spoken with force, but without eloquence; and Mark was afraid that his speech had not carried much weight.

The next to rise was Brother Birinus, who stood up as tall as a tree and said: 

“I agree with Brother George.”

And when he sat down it was as if a tree had been uprooted.

There was a pause after this, while every brother looked at his neighbour, waiting for him to rise at this crisis in the history of the Order.  At last the Father Superior asked Brother Anselm if he did not intend to speak.

“What can I say?” asked Brother Anselm bitterly.  “Last year I should have been true to myself and voted against the closing of the Sandgate house.  I was silent then in my egoism.  I am not fit to defend our house now.”