past the motionless servant in purple who waited with his hand on
the car-door. Surely he knew this place. . . . Yes; it was Dean's
Yard. And this was the entrance to the cloister of the Abbey. But
who was "the Prior," and what was it all about?

He turned to the other, who by now was bending over the box and
extracting a few papers laid neatly at the top.

"What are you doing, father? Who are you going to see?"

"I am going to take these papers of yours to the Prior--the
Prior of Westminster. The Abbot isn't here yet. Only a few of
the monks have come."

"Monks! Prior! . . . Father!"

The old man looked him in the eyes again.

"Yes," he said quietly. "The Abbey was made over again to the
Benedictines last year, but they haven't yet formally taken
possession. And these papers concern business connected with the
whole affair--the relations of seculars and regulars. I'll tell
you afterwards. I must go in now, and you must just remain here
quietly. Tell me again. What is your name? Who are you?"

"I. . . I am Monsignor Masterman. . . secretary to
Cardinal Bellairs."

The priest smiled as he laid his hand on the door.