"There is only one cab in Lyvern," said Miss Wilson. "Take this card
to Mr. Marsh, the jotmaster, and tell him the predicament we are in. He
will send vehicles."

Smilash took the card and read it at a glance. He then went into the
chalet. Reappearing presently in a sou'wester and oilskins, he ran off
through the rain and vaulted over the gate with ridiculous elegance.
No sooner had he vanished than, as often happens to remarkable men, he
became the subject of conversation.

"A decent workman," said Josephs. "A well-mannered man, considering his
class."

"A born fool, though," said Fairholme.

"Or a rogue," said Agatha, emphasizing the suggestion by a glitter of
her eyes and teeth, whilst her schoolfellows, rather disapproving of her
freedom, stood stiffly dumb. "He told Miss Wilson that he had a sister,
and that he had been to church last Sunday, and he has just told you
that he is a foundling, and that he only came last Wednesday. His accent
is put on, and he can read, and I don't believe he is a workman at all.
Perhaps he is a burglar, come down to steal the college plate."

"Agatha," said Miss Wilson gravely, "you must be very careful how you
say things of that kind."

"But it is so obvious. His explanation about the umbrella was made up
to disarm suspicion. He handled it and leaned on it in a way that showed
how much more familiar it was to him than that new spade he was so