and full of blood. And here we are on the ground.'

It was a low, old-fashioned, grey church, with a Gothic entrance and
two niches on either side, which spoke of pre-Lutheran days. Cheap
modern shops, which banked it in, showed up the quaint dignity of the
ancient front. The side-door was open, and they passed into its dim-
lit interior, with high carved pews, and rich, old, stained glass.
Huge black oak beams curved over their heads, and dim inscriptions of
mediaeval Latin curled and writhed upon the walls. A single step
seemed to have taken them from the atmosphere of the nineteenth to
that of the fifteenth century.

'What a ripping old church!' Jack whispered.

'You can't buy 'em. But it's as festive as an ice-house. There's a
friendly native coming down the aisle. He's your man, Hale, if you
want the news.'

The verger was not in the best of tempers. 'It's at a quarter to
four,' said he, as Hale met him.

'No, no, at eleven.'

'Quarter to four, I tell you. The vicar says so.'

'Why, it's not possible.'

'We have them at all hours.'

'Have what?'