The scene was complete when the two arrived, with the unemployed man encouraging them from behind, half a minute later under the archway.

Jack had faced Frank fairly and squarely on the further pavement, and was holding him in talk.

“My dear chap,” he was saying, “we’ve been waiting for you all day.  Thank the Lord you’ve come!”

Frank looked a piteous sight, thought Dick, who now for the first time saw the costume that Mr. Parham-Carter had described with such minuteness.  He was standing almost under the lamp, and there were heavy drooping shadows on his face; he looked five years older than when Dick had last seen him—­only at Easter.  But his voice was confident and self-respecting enough.

“My dear Jack,” he was saying, “you really mustn’t interrupt.  I’ve only just—­” Then he broke off as he recognized the others.

“So you’ve given me away after all,” he said with a certain sternness to the clergyman.

“Indeed I haven’t,” cried that artless young man.  “They came quite unexpectedly this morning.”

“And you’ve told them that they could catch me here,” said Frank “Well, it makes no difference.  I’m going on—­Hullo!  Dick!”

“Look here!” said Dick.  “It’s really serious.  You’ve heard about—­” His voice broke.

“I’ve heard about it,” said Frank.  “But that doesn’t make any difference for to-night.”

“But my dear man,” cried Jack, seizing him by the lapel of his coat, “it’s simply ridiculous.  We’ve come down here on purpose—­you’re killing yourself—­”

“One moment,” said Frank.  “Tell me exactly what you want.”

Dick pushed to the front.

“Let him alone, you fellows....  This is what we want, Frank.  We want you to come straight to the clergy-house for to-night.  To-morrow you and I’ll go and see the lawyers first thing in the morning, and go up to Merefield by the afternoon train.  I’m sorry, but you’ve really got to go through with it.  You’re the head of the family now.  They’ll be all waiting for you there, and they can’t do anything without you.  This mustn’t get into the papers.  Fortunately, not a soul knows of it yet, though they would have if you’d been half an hour later.  Now, come along.”

“One moment,” said Frank.  “I agree with nearly all that you’ve said.  I quite agree with you that”—­he paused a moment—­“that the head of the family should be at Merefield to-morrow night.  But for to-night you three must just go round to the clergy-house and wait.  I’ve got to finish my job clean out—­and—­”

“What job?” cried two voices simultaneously.

Frank leaned against the wall and put his hands in his pockets.

“I really don’t propose to go into all that now.  It’d take an hour.  But two of you know most of the story.  In a dozen words it’s this—­I’ve got the girl away, and now I’m going to tell the man, and tell him a few other things at the same time.  That’s the whole thing.  Now clear off, please. (I’m awfully obliged, you know, and all that), but you really must let me finish it before I do anything else.”