’It seems pretty clear that the Moxeys—­at all events Miss Moxey —­knew the rascally part he was playing.  Whether they wished to unmask him, or not, I can’t say.  Perhaps not.  Yet I caught an odd look on Miss Moxey’s face when that man Malkin began to talk of Peak’s characteristics and achievements.  It came out, by-the-bye, that he had given all his acquaintances the slip; they had completely lost sight of him—­I suppose until Miss Moxey met him by chance at Budleigh Salterton.  There’s some mystery still.  She evidently kept Peak’s secret from the Moorhouses and the Walworths.  A nice business, altogether!’

Again there was a long silence.  Then Sidwell raised her face and said, abruptly: 

‘You may be quite mistaken.’

‘How?’

’You went to Mr. Peak in a spirit of enmity and anger.  It is not likely he would explain himself.  You may have quite misunderstood what he said.’

’Ridiculous!  You mean that he was perhaps “converted” after writing this article?—­Then why did he allow it to be published?’

’He did not sign it.  He may have been unable to withdraw it from the editor’s hands.’

’Bosh!  He didn’t sign it, because the idea of this Exeter campaign came between the reception and the appearance of his paper.  In the ordinary course of things, he would have been only too glad to see his name in The Critical.  The scoundrelly project was conceived perhaps the very day that I brought him here—­perhaps in that moment—­at lunch, do you remember?—­when he began to talk of the sermon at the Cathedral?’

‘Why did he go to the Cathedral and hear that sermon?’

‘To amuse a Sunday morning, I suppose.’

‘That is not very likely in a man who hates and ridicules religion.’

‘It is decidedly more probable than the idea of his conversion.’

Sidwell fell back again into her brooding attitude.

‘The reason of your mistake in judging him,’ resumed Buckland, with emphasis, ’is that you have undervalued his intellect.  I told you long ago that a man of Peak’s calibre could not possibly be a supporter of dogmas and churches.  No amount of plausible evidence would have made me believe in his sincerity.  Let me beg you to appreciate the simple fact, that no young man of brains and education is nowadays an honest defender of mediaeval Christianity —­the Christianity of your churches.  Such fellows may transact with their conscience, and make a more or less decent business of the clerical career; or, in rare cases, they may believe that society is served by the maintenance of a national faith, and accordingly preach with all manner of mental reserves and symbolical interpretations.  These are in reality politicians, not priests.  But Peak belongs to neither class.  He is an acute cynic, bent on making the best of this world, since he believes in no other.  How he must have chuckled after every visit to this house!  He despises you, one and all.  Believe me, he regards you with profound contempt.’