CHAPTER XI

THE LOST PARISHIONER


I

Hodder opened the door. In the dingy passageway he perceived a tall
figure which immediately turned out to be that of an old gentleman. In
spite of the heat, he wore a long coat and an old-fashioned, high collar,
a black tie, under which was exposed a triangle of immaculate, pleated
linen. In one hand he held a gold-headed stick, a large tall hat of
which the silk nap was a little rubbed, a string sustaining a parcel, the
brown paper wrapping of which was soaked: in the other, a manila bag
containing lemons.

His head was bent forward a little, the high dome of it was bald,
but the white hair clustered thickly behind the temples. The face was
clean-shaven, the cheeks touched with red, the nose high and dominating,
distinctly philanthropic. And the blue eyes rested on the clergyman with
a benevolence unfeigned.

"Good afternoon, sir," the old gentleman said; "I am told Mrs. Garvin
lives here."

Before the rector could reply Mrs. Garvin herself stood between them.

"It's Mr. Bentley!" she exclaimed.

"I fear I'm intruding, ma'am," he said. "But some of Dicky's little