As the door opened, a figure, humped up and masked, alighted.

It was the Clutching Hand.

The car had scarcely pulled away, when he gave a long rap, followed by two short taps, at the door of the vestry, a secret code, evidently.

Inside the vestry room a well-dressed man but with a very sinister face heard the knock and a second later opened the door.

“What—­not ready yet?” growled the Clutching Hand.  “Quick—­now—­ get on those clothes.  I heard the train whistle as I came in the car.  In which closet does the minister keep them?”

The crook, without a word, went to a closet and took out a suit of clothes of ministerial cut.  Then he hastily put them on, adding some side-whiskers, which he had brought with him.

At about the same time, Elaine, acompanied by “Weepy Mary” and her “son,” had arrived at the little tumble-down station and had taken the only vehicle in sight, a very ancient carriage.

It ambled along until, at last, it pulled up before the vestry room door of the church, just as the bogus minister was finishing his transformation from a frank crook.  Clutching Hand was giving him final instructions.

Elaine and the others alighted and approached the church, while the ancient vehicle rattled away.

“They’re coming,” whispered the crook, peering cautiously out of the window.

Clutching Hand moved silently and snake-like into the closet and shut the door.

“How do you do, Dr. Carton?” greeted “Weepy Mary.”  “I guess you don’t remember me.”

The clerical gentleman looked at her fixedly a moment.

“Remember you?” he repeated.  “Of course, my dear.  I remember everyone I marry.”

“And you remember to whom you married me?”

“Perfectly.  To an older man—­a Taylor Dodge.”

Elaine was overcome.

“Won’t you step in?” he asked suavely.  “Your friend here doesn’t seem well.”

They all entered.

“And you—­you say—­you married this—­this woman to Taylor Dodge?” queried Elaine, tensely.

The bogus minister seemed to be very fatherly.  “Yes,” he assented, “I certainly did so.”

“Have you the record?” asked Elaine, fighting to the last.

“Why, yes.  I can show you the record.”

He moved over to the closet.  “Come over here,” he asked.

He opened the door.  Elaine screamed and drew back.  There stood her arch enemy, the Clutching Hand himself.

As he stepped forth, she turned, wildly, to run—­anywhere.  But strong arms seized her and forced her into a chair.

She looked at the woman and the minister.  It was a plot!

A moment Clutching Hand looked Elaine over.  “Put the others out,” he ordered the other crook.

Quickly the man obeyed, leading “Weepy Mary” and her “son” to the door, and waving them away as he locked it.  They left, quite as much in the dark about the master criminal’s identity as Elaine.