They had relied greatly upon Bob. The bishop, though rather bitter on the subject of Bob, tried to be fair to him, and said he was a very promising boy.
"I think it most remarkable," said his lordship, when his fine but tired legs were beneath the mahogany once more, "that he should be able to drive these dreadful machines with such skill. He missed a great many things that he might have hit, but, as he said, he 'boosted' one dog over a hedge in a most skilful way. He said 'boosted,' a very peculiar word. I must write to Doctor Murray about it. But I do not think he has been brought up with care. He was not altogether respectful to me, Bradstock."
"I much regret it," said Bradstock, "but what can you expect at Goring? On the whole, his manners are not so bad. Perhaps you annoyed him. He does not like being annoyed."
"Indeed," said the bishop, "indeed! Well, I may have worried him in a way that I do not quite understand. But I have to own that for a boy to put his hand on my shoulder and say, 'Sit down, bishop,' in a most authoritative way, made me a little cross. And when I refused to enter the motorcar again, I think he might have given me more time to reflect on the fact that I was a very long way from anywhere. He was very short and peremptory with me. It was most curious, and I regret I did not go on with him, for I am extremely anxious to put an end to this scandal. One never knows what will happen. The duel in the moonlight under the cathedral was most remarkable. I wonder when Bob will return."
"So do I," said Bradstock, drily.
"Why do you say so in that tone?" asked the bishop.
"Because I doubt whether he will return at all if he finds Penelope," replied Bradstock.
"Good heavens!" cried the bishop, "but he went for the very purpose of discovering her."
"You don't know Pen," said Bradstock, "and he worships her. If she doesn't want to be discovered, she will keep him. I am certain of it."
This showed that Bradstock, though a silent peer, was a very sensible one. The bishop frowned and smote the table.
"I shall be extremely angry with Bob if you turn out to be right," he said, firmly. "I shall be extremely angry with him."
"Much he will care about that," said Bradstock. "You ought to have gone on with him."
"I believe I ought to have done so. Yes, you are right, Bradstock; it was an error of judgment. I was a coward. I was afraid to die. I did not like the idea of being 'boosted' over a hedge. I am ashamed of myself."
"Never mind," said Bradstock, consolingly, "I have seen heroes quail in a motor-car. I myself have quailed in one."
The bishop shook his head.
"Nevertheless, I blame myself. I ought not to have been afraid, even though I felt peculiar and unwonted sensations in my gaiters," he murmured.
He smote the table again.
"I will make amends, Bradstock. I will devote myself to the task of finding Penelope at any speed that is necessary. I cannot quite reconcile myself to the notion that I am a coward. I will find her if Bob deceives us."
"You can't," said Bradstock, rather gloomily.
"I can, I will," said the bishop. "I will use my brains."
It was a happy thought. The bishop mused. There was a knock at the outer door. It was a double, a telegraphic knock.
"From the duchess?" asked the bishop.
"From Bob, or I am a bishop," said the peer.
And Ridley gave him a telegram. Bradstock read it slowly, lifted his eyebrows, rubbed his handsome white head, and handed it to the bishop.
"From Bob, bishop, a very remarkable Bobbish document."
The bishop read it.
"It certainly is a remarkable document, a very remarkable document, indeed," said his lordship. "I see it was handed in at Lincoln. She won't say who it is because she has quarrelled with him. With her husband, that is to say. She will not let Bob come back. She quarrelled with him because he said he was married to her. Very remarkable! Somewhat confusing. But it is a relief to hear that the baby is not black, Bradstock."
Bradstock was pessimistic.
"It may be half-black," he said, mournfully.
"Which half?" asked the bishop, with alarm. "If it is, I hope it will not be the top half."
"Absurd!" said Bradstock. "I mean it may be dun or yellowish."
"Let us trust not," replied the bishop. "I am inclined to think Bob would have said it was not very black if it had been at all coloured. I think we may dismiss the Jugpore legend."
"I trust we may," said Bradstock.
"I have an idea," said the bishop, "I have a luminous idea. Let us go to the library."
They adjourned to the library, and Bradstock lighted a cigar.
"What is your idea?" he asked.
"I will tell you in a few minutes," said the bishop, as he laid a big atlas upon his table. Bradstock watched him curiously. The bishop opened the atlas and laid a flat ruler on it. He shifted it once or twice, nodded his head, said "Ah!" and nodded it again.
"I believe I have it," said the bishop. "It will be worth trying, at any rate."
"What is it?" asked Bradstock.
"Come and look at the atlas," said the bishop, and Bradstock did as he was asked.
The bishop put his finger-tips together and began:
"Bob was following this person named Smith, and went north, did he not? Let us say north. I believe it is technically north by east. He put me out, or, to be fair even to Bob, I got out and was asked to return very casually, north of Spalding in the Boston road, miles from anywhere. This Smith was going back to Penelope. For while Bob and I were away, you got her telegram dated Spilsborough, sent to London and re-telegraphed to you here, saying that she was well, in reply to your Times advertisement. Obviously, Penelope lives somewhere north of the spot where Bob left me without time for argument. Do you follow me?"
"Certainly," said Bradstock. "It is all as clear as quaternions."
"Now we get this very remarkable document from Lincoln."
"We do, bishop."
"It is obvious she doesn't live at Lincoln. She has sent this very fast Smith there to send off Bob's telegram. Is that not so?"
"Of course," said Bradstock.
"Let us imagine that Lincoln is nearly as far from where she is as Spilsborough is."
"Let us imagine it," said Bradstock. "I am willing to imagine it."
"What conclusion do you draw?" asked the bishop.
Bradstock shook his head.
"Really, Bradstock," said the bishop, "I am surprised at you. If she is between Spalding and Lough, as I'm sure she is, an equal distance from her to Lincoln and from her to Spilsborough would place her about Boston, or perhaps farther north. Now, if on inquiry we find she is not near Boston, she must be near a decent road fit for motor-cars to Lincoln. Do you follow me?"
"I do," said Bradstock.
"Then if she is not near Boston, where is she?" Bradstock studied the map.
"I should say Burgh, or Warnfleet, or Spilsby."
"Right," said the bishop. "I am almost sure of it. For if she had been farther north, she would not have chosen Spilsborough to telegraph from in the first instance. What do you say to that?"
"I say that I am not surprised that you are a bishop, though I may wonder why you are in the Church," said Bradstock.
"What do you mean by that, Bradstock?" asked his lordship.
"Nothing, nothing at all," replied Bradstock, hastily. "I agree with you. What shall we do?"
The bishop eyed him a little doubtfully, but returned to his muttons.
"I want to bowl out Bob," he said.
"A bishop is a human being, after all," thought Bradstock.
"He might have reasoned with me," said the bishop. "I am quite free the day after to-morrow, and we will go to Boston and make inquiries. If they fail, we will try Warnfleet and Spilsby and Burgh."
"We will," said Bradstock. "I think this idea of yours exceedingly clever, bishop."
"You do?"
"Certain, I do."
"I forgive your recent gibe," said the bishop. "It was clearer than quaternions to me, and much clearer than Bob's rudeness, which I continue to find inexplicable. And now I think the duchess should be informed of his telegram. It will console her, I am sure, to learn that this fatherless infant is not black."
"Not very black," insisted Bradstock.
And the bishop sent a wire to Titania, saying that Bob had disappeared into space, but had telegraphed saying that he had found Penelope with a normal infant.
"After all, he only said it wasn't black," sighed Bradstock.
But the bishop would not listen to him. So he went out and sent a wire to Titania himself.
"I should like to make Bob black and blue," the bishop said. For his legs still ached.