“We would have had a glorious time, Father,” sighed Saunders, regretfully.  Then he leaned back and whistled softly as his mind grasped the full significance of the priest’s words.  “The detective business, Father,” he said energetically, “has many angles, and few of them are right angles; but I think that the number of obtuse and other kind of angles is much larger in diplomacy.  But I rather like that Minister,” he added.  “He isn’t heartless.”

“No,” replied Father Murray, as he contemplatively lighted a cigar.  “He was mighty human when he came to see us at the New Willard.  Don’t you remember how he forgot himself—­even had tears in his eyes when he referred to the dead Duchess and the fact that she was better off in her grave than she would have been at court?  His wife had taken a genuine liking to Ruth, and the man himself was more than half convinced that she was all she claimed to be, but he wasn’t free to release her.  He now wants to make reparation—­but he wants also to support the idea that Ruth Atheson was only the friend of the dead Duchess and, therefore, that the Duchess is really dead.  It would be very unfortunate, if, later on, it should prove that he had been deceived.  He would find it difficult to explain matters to His Majesty if a Grand Duchess, supposedly dead, should suddenly prove very much alive and demand possession of a throne already occupied by her successor.  So His Excellency wants the lady married as ‘Ruth Atheson’ with due solemnity and with proper witness.  There is method, Mr. Saunders, even in his kindness.”

Saunders whistled again.  “It beats me, Father,” he said.  “I own up.  They know more than detectives.”

At this moment Mark came striding over the lawn.

“Hello, Saunders,” he called.  “I’ve been looking for you.  Now that I’ve got you, I might as well have it out and be done with it.  Ruth wants you to stay here.  She wants to make you one of us.  We are going to Ireland for six months, and then we’re coming back to live here part of each year.  We want you to take charge of Killimaga.  I’ve bought it.  A good salary—­no quarreling or dickering about it.  What do you say?”

“This is certainly a surprise,” said Saunders, winking at the Padre.  “Have you room for an extra family?”

“You’re married?”

“Very much so.”

“The bigger the family the better.  But,” he added, as an afterthought, “I’ll have to tell Ruth, or she’ll be trying to marry you off.  You’ll come, then?”

“Yes,” said Saunders, “I guess I’ll take you up on that.”

Mark shook hands with him.  “Done.  You’re a good old chap.  I thought you would stay.”

Then, turning to Father Murray, Mark spoke more seriously.  “Don’t you think, Father, that it is almost time to meet the Bishop?  He is coming on the next train, you know.”  He paused and seemed momentarily embarrassed.  Then he straightened up and frankly voiced his thought.  “Before he comes, will you not step into the church with me?  I have a lot of things to straighten out.”