Mark laughed.  “Your old parishioner is a discerning man.”

“Uncle Mac,” replied Father Murray, “is the kind of man who believes that virtue stands in the middle.  When I first came here he called to see me to ask about my politics.  Uncle Mac is a lifelong Democrat, and when I told him that I usually voted the Republican ticket he became suspicious.  Just before the election I preached on ’Citizenship’—­careful always to avoid any reference to partisanship.  Uncle Mac came in after Mass and said:  ‘I think ye were preachin’ Republican sintiments this morning Father.’  I said, ’Not at all, Uncle Mac.  I made no reference to either party.’  ‘No,’ said he, ‘but yer sintiments were awful highfalutin’.’”

Mark laughed his appreciation.  “Wasn’t that rather a compliment to the Republicans?” he asked.

“I took it so,” said Father Murray.  “But Uncle Mac does not like the ‘highfalutin’.’  One day he said to me, when he saw all my books, ’The man who was here before you, Father, wasn’t smart enough; but you’re too dom smart.  Now, I don’t like a priest who isn’t smart enough, but I’m afeerd of one who’s too dom smart.  If you’d only half as many books, I’d feel betther about ye.’”

The Padre paused a moment; then the anxious look returned and he spoke slowly as if he were trying to solve the puzzle even while he spoke.

“Uncle Mac told me yesterday that there was a very ‘highfalutin’ gintleman’ in the camp the night before last.  He came there in a long, rakish automobile.  Uncle Mac said that ’he parted his whiskers in the middle, so he did,’ and that ‘he looked like a governor or somethin’ of the sort.’  I was just wondering if that detective of yours has anything to do with that camp, and if these strange visitors are not in some way connected with his interest in Miss Atheson.  But perhaps that’s making too much of a mystery of it.”

“As to that,” said Mark, “of course I cannot say.  I merely wanted you to know, Father Murray, just what was going on; to tell you that while you don’t know me, nevertheless I hope you will permit me to be of assistance if these people are annoying Miss Atheson.  If you wish to know more about me, I shall be glad to bring you the papers I left in the vault this morning.”

“I do not need to see your papers, Mr. Griffin,” Father Murray answered.  “I am satisfied with you, especially since Miss Atheson owes something to you.  Will you mind if I do not discuss the matter with you further now?”

“Not at all, Father Murray.  I do not ask for information that you feel you should not give.”

“Perhaps,” said Father Murray, “I shall give it to you later on; but for the present let matters stand as they are.  You know the detective, and I don’t.  The principal thing is to find out whether there is any connection between that camp, the ‘highfalutin’ gintleman’ of Uncle Mac, and the detective.  I have reason to think there may be.  This much I will say to you:  You need have no fear whatever for Miss Atheson.  I can assure you that there is no good reason in the world why a detective should be watching her.  Miss Atheson is everything that she looks.”