Mrs Lawford read quietly on, folded the papers, and held them out
between finger and thumb. 'The--handwriting...' she remarked very
softly.

'Wonderful, isn't it?' said Mr Bethany warmly; 'all the general
look and run of the thing different, but every real essential
feature unchanged. Now into the envelope. And now a little wax?'

Mrs Lawford stood waiting. 'There's a green piece of
sealing-wax,' almost drawled the quiet voice, 'in the top right
drawer of the nest in the study, which old James gave me the
Christmas before last.' He glanced with lowered eyelids at his
wife's flushed cheek. Their eyes met.

'Thank you,' she said.

When she returned the vicar was sitting in a chair, leaning his
chin on the knobbed handle of his umbrella. He rose and lit a
taper for her with a match from a little green pot on the table.
And Mrs Lawford, with trembling fingers, sealed the letter, as he
directed, with his own seal.

'There!' he said triumphantly, 'how many more such brilliant
lawyers, I wonder, lie dormant in the Church? And who shall keep
this?... Why, all three, of course.' He went on without pausing.
'Some little drawer now, secret and undetectable, with a lock.'
Just such a little drawer that locked itself with a spring lay by
chance in the looking-glass. There the letter was hidden. And Mr
Bethany looked at his watch. 'Nineteen minutes,' he said. 'The