After this, things by no means cleared up, as they should have done considering the amount of trouble that all the world took to find out the truth. Every one said something different from some one else. Bob gave horribly imaginative accounts of his adventures at Oxford, and threw out suggestions that Pen was really married to a Bunting, if not to Timothy Bunting. But when he appealed for corroboration to Gordon, that gentleman shuffled and prevaricated dreadfully, as he did not like to acknowledge he had been thrown down-stairs. There was a very curious scene, in which Gordon and Bob had the best part of a row before Titania, who came up to town to be near Dr. Lumsden Griff, who knew all about the left or right ventricle of her heart. As his jealous confrères said he knew nothing else, perhaps he did. However, that is by the way.
"Tell it me again, Robert," said Titania.
Bob told her again.
"He said he was married to her?"
"He said he said so to Mr. Plant and Mr. Gordon, and Williams and De Vere," said Bob, gloating over the details of the row. "And he slung 'em all down-stairs. He's about six feet six high, and as broad as a billiard-table, and as strong as three Sandows, I should say."
"I am much confused again," said Titania, plaintively. "I had come to the point where certain news of her marriage to a groom would have been a relief to me. Where are we now?"
As she asked, Gordon was announced. Bob rushed at him.
"I say, Mr. Gordon, tell us how he threw you down-stairs, and what he said?"
"He didn't throw me down-stairs," said Gordon, quite crossly. "I threw myself down—I mean I slipped."
"Tell us how you slipped, then, and why," said Bob.
But Gordon wouldn't.
"Oh, I say!" said Bob.
Titania begged Gordon to tell her.
"But then he told me he had married Pen," she said to herself. "What is the use of asking any one anything?"
"How did you find him?" asked Bob.
"I looked him up," said Gordon.
"Why did you look him up?"
"Because I wanted to find him out," returned Gordon, sulkily. "But I didn't come to be cross-examined by you, Bob."
In spite of the large sums of money which Gordon owed Bob, Bob was on the point of an explosion. But trouble was averted by Plant's entrance. Before he could say a word, a telegram was brought to Titania, and she read it at once and uttered dismal groans.
"What is it?" chorused the two men and Bob.
"It's from Penelope."
"Please read it out."
Bob read it for his grandmother.
"Am exceedingly displeased with latest reports and news. Contradict at once. Am not married to Bunting, who is much upset by report, and can hardly look me in the face. PENELOPE."
"Bunting is with her!" said Titania.
"Which Bunting?" asked Bob. "He—I mean the one at Oxford—told Mr. Gordon and Mr. de Vere that he was married to her."
Gordon groaned, and, seizing his hat, fled from the room. He came back again.
"Where does the wire come from?"
"From Spilsborough," said Bob. "Granny, I wonder if the bishop is in it."
Gordon groaned and went. And went a little too early, for another wire came. It was a very long one.
Titania looked at the signature first, and she sat up.
"It's from Penelope's husband," she cried.
"Who is he really?" shrieked Bob.
"It's signed Penelope's husband, I mean," said Titania, "and he seems very unhappy."
The telegram read:
"Am in great distress. Penelope is furious because told you confidence that was married to her. She has heard this, and has learnt that others, lying scoundrels, said they were, too. She says their noble conduct saved her, and will not speak at present, though holding out hopes of reconciliation later to her and infant, which is doing well, if I say nothing and do not fight with others, but do my duty, which I find hard under peculiar circumstances. Hence am precluded from confirming what I told you, and can only communicate anonymously, as Penelope threatens to have divorce or equivalent, being headstrong, as you are aware, and I am in distress about it. Wire reply.
"PENELOPE'S HUSBAND."
"He's mad," said Titania. "How can I wire reply to a man I know nothing of?"
She turned to Plant.
"You told me in confidence, Mr. Plant. Did you send this?"
Plant turned all the colours of the rainbow.
"Yes," he said, desperately, and he bolted from the room and the house and disappeared, while Bob gasped, and Titania nodded her head in a most awe-inspiring manner.
"Get some telegraph forms," she said. And when Bob brought them, she dictated telegrams to all the horde in the diplomatic form of identic notes.
"Have received sad telegram signed Penelope's husband. Recognize under painful circumstances he cannot reveal himself. Am much composed and have given up hope. It appears it cannot be Bunting, though Bunting is with her. Contradict this; also the rumour that it is the Rajah of Jugpore.
"TITANIA GORING."
"Send them," she said, "and let me rest. I presume that the right one will get it. The only trouble is that six of the wrong ones will, too."
"Goby will go insane," said Bob. "I know he will. I can't see how this will end without murder."
And Titania laughed dreadfully. She laughed so queerly that Doctor Griff was sent for, and refused to allow her to see De Vere and Goby and Bramber and Gordon and Plant and Williams and Carew. The last turned up first in a hansom cab, with a large palette knife in his hand. He had forgotten to put it down. As hansom after hansom came up and discharged one furious lover after another at the steps of Titania's town house, it looked as if Bob's foreseen murder would occur there and then. It is possible that nothing but the timely arrival of Bradstock saved London from the desirable news of a murder in high life and Belgrave Square. He got hold of the men one by one, and sent them away. As they went, a telegraph boy came to the house with another telegram addressed to Titania.
"I shall open this, Bob," said Bradstock. It was another from Pen.
"Have just learnt that you and others have been trying to discover my whereabouts. If I am pursued, I shall leave and go elsewhere. This is final.
PENELOPE."
"From Spilsborough, Bob," said Bradstock.
"She's heard that I and Goby and Rivaulx and the others were there," said Bob. "Do you think the bishop knows where she is?"
"I wouldn't trust a bishop," said Bradstock. "I daresay he does. It is said that bishops steal Elzevirs and umbrellas, Bob. I think I shall go to Spilsborough myself. Have you seen the evening papers, Bob?"
Bob had seen none of them.
"Some say now that she is married to Jugpore, and others say it is a morganatic marriage to the mediatized Prince of Bodenstrau."
"Oh, I say, Pen will be mad," cried Bob. "Isn't he a real bad un?"
"The very worst," said Bradstock.
"And are you really going to Spilsborough, Lord Bradstock?"
"I really think so," said Bradstock. "I begin to think I must do something."
He stood pondering.
"May I come with you?"
Bradstock declined the honour.
"If I don't succeed, you may go again if you like," he said. And that very afternoon he went to Liverpool Street and took the train for Spilsborough to call on the bishop.
"My dear Bradstock, I am delighted to see you," said his lordship. "I presume you, too, have come here about Penelope?"
"I have," said Bradstock, "every one does."
"Did young Bob tell you all about the peculiar occurrences which took place here only lately? They were quite remarkable."
Bradstock agreed that they were remarkable.
"A duel on the dean's grass, now! Who would have thought of that but a Frenchman? Have you seen the marquis lately, and that very agreeable financier, the American? I was much grieved not to be able to ask him to dinner, owing to his sudden departure. He showed considerable skill in grasping the essentials of the situation, for, when the marquis, who was literally foaming at the mouth, offered him the choice of swords in a violent but perfectly gentlemanly way, he chose both of them, and put them under his arm. It is not every one who could have displayed such readiness in preventing violence. One would not have expected it in an American, for I understand disorder and disturbances leading to bloodshed are quite common even in Washington."
"I have frequently seen most bloodthirsty duels behind the Capitol during the sessions of Congress," said Bradstock, gravely.
"Ah, so I understand," replied the bishop. "But is there no news of dear Penelope?"
"Come, bishop, let us be frank," said Bradstock. "Have you no idea whom she has married?"
The gentle bishop looked much surprised.
"I? My dear Bradstock, I haven't the least idea. But I gather that both the gentlemen I interrupted the other day claim to be her husband, to say nothing of many others whom I have not yet set eyes on."
"And you have no notion where she is?"
The bishop lifted his hands.
"I think she must be near this place," he said. "I consider there can be no doubt of that, owing to matters with which Bob made me acquainted. By the way, I think this young Bob a very remarkable boy, Bradstock."
"So do I, bishop," said Bradstock.
"A very remarkable boy. The dean, who saw very little of him, came to that conclusion. He said he would be an ornament to the House of Lords, or the biggest young rip that ever disgraced it."
"Your dean must be a clever man," said Bradstock.
"Do not call him my dean," replied the bishop. "He is the cathedral's dean, and very difficult to handle. However, he is said to be clever, and I dare say is clever, especially about grass and a choir and things material. But, as I was going on to say, I consider it quite easy to find out where Penelope is, provided we go about it skilfully. I cannot but remember that I christened her, and I still take an interest in her."
"How do you propose to discover her whereabouts?" asked Bradstock.
"She sends telegrams from our Spilsborough post-office, does she not?"
"Yes," said Bradstock.
"Then some one should watch the post-office for her messenger. It seems probable that you would know him, as she is not likely to confide in strangers. Who can say that the very man she has married does not send them?"
That was easily disposed of, for, to Bradstock's certain knowledge, all the lovers were in town when the last wires came.
"Well, I suggest you watch the post-office," said the bishop. "It is, I opine, a perfectly legitimate thing to do."
Bradstock objected that she mightn't send any more for weeks.
A brilliant idea struck the bishop.
"Send her one which requires an answer, Bradstock."
"Where to?" asked Bradstock.
"Tut, tut!" said the bishop, "how foolish of me. Stay, I have it. Put something in the Times which requires an answer."
"I will," said Bradstock.
"And send for young Bob to watch," said the bishop. "It is time that this scandal was stopped. I am exceedingly grieved with Penelope for getting married in a registrar's office. I will offer to marry her all over again in this very cathedral. And now you shall come and have lunch, and I will show you the swords given me by the marquis."
After lunch and an inspection of the trophies in the dining-room, Bradstock and the bishop drafted an advertisement for the Times, imploring Pen to telegraph to Bradstock, saying how she was, as there was a rumour afloat that she didn't feel well. This was sent by wire to town, and was accompanied in its flight by one to Bob, asking him to come up in a motor-car at once.
"I think," said the bishop, "that I should like to go in a motor-car. There must be something delightful in speeding through the country feeling that steel and petrol do not suffer any of the strain that comes on horses. I shall ask young Bob to take me out."
"He will be delighted," said Bradstock. "I'm sure he will be delighted. They say he is an enterprising driver for his youth."
"I love enterprise," murmured the bishop. "I am surprised now to think of my own. I entered the Church meaning to be a bishop, and I am a bishop. I love enterprise. All curates seem full of it. Deans, I regret to say, are seldom vigorously enterprising. Archdeacons, too, have a tendency to take things easily, too easily."
"What do you think of the Higher Criticism?" asked Bradstock.
"Ha!" said the bishop, "ha! I think—oh, I think a great deal of it. That is, I think of it a great deal. I do not think all enterprise is praiseworthy. Would you like to know the dean?"
They spent the afternoon in the dean's cathedral, and walked on the dean's grass, and about six o'clock Bob rolled into the cathedral close in a fifteen-horse-power Daimler, and drew up in front of the bishop's palace.
"Have you found her out?" he demanded, eagerly, of Bradstock.
"No, but you shall," said Bradstock.