Part 12

"The same thing. He stood there and said I must contradict it. And he said of course it was very kind of her to have me educated, but that, if I had a spark of decency, I should know that a man who had once occupied the position I had couldn't possibly marry her. And, by the way, what position had I occupied in regard to her?"

"A groom," said Bob. "You were supposed to have been a groom."

"Dear me," said Mr. Bunting, "how interesting and remarkable. Still no light, no real light! And of course I said I had married her, and I asked him did he think I would desert the lady now? And he went scarlet. Why did he go scarlet do you think?"

"I know," said Bob, "it must have been on account of the baby!"

Mr. Bunting smote his forehead.

"So it must," he said. "I never thought of that. What a fearful complication! And then he, too, said I was a liar. So I took him by the collar and led him to the window, and I opened it and dropped him out. And then the one you call Williams came, and he also was indignant, and said I was to deny it, and I wouldn't of course. And then we fought, and the furniture was much disarranged and Thicksides went under the sofa, and at last I got him outside, and finished him with Liddell and Scott. And now you know all! In your turn you can explain what it means. I beg you to do it, and then we will have some tea."

And Bob explained the whole story.

"You might have seen it in the papers," said Bob.

"I don't read 'em," said Bunting, "except to turn a _Times_ leader into Greek. But it seems a complicated situation, doesn't it?"

"It is very complicated," sighed Bob, "and my grandmother is very ill about it. And now she will wonder if it's you, after all!"

"Dear me, so she will," said Bunting. "Have some tea."

They had tea, and Bob rose to go.

"Will you write to the _Times_, and say you haven't married her?" he asked.

"Certainly not," said Mr. Bunting. "Didn't I say to the others that I threw down-stairs that I _had_ married her?"

"So you did," said Bob. "But of course you haven't?"

Bunting smiled.

"Good-bye. When you come to Oxford again, come and see me. I must crawl under the sofa now."

"What for?" asked Bob.

"For Thucydides, of course," replied Mr. Bunting.

And when Bob was in the train for London, he turned very pale.

"Good heavens!" he said, "how do I know it isn't this Bunting, after all?"

*CHAPTER XIX.*

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 confreres 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.

*CHAPTER XX.*

The bishop was very kind and amiable to Bob. Some people say that bishops are always kind and good to people who will be dukes by and by. One never knows what a duke can do for one later, and, of course, a bishop wants to be an archbishop. That is only natural: even a cardinal wants to be Pope, although he almost always says he is sorry he became one when he finds himself at the end of his tether. The bishop was a human being, but a nice one, and he really liked Bob, who suggested youth and strength and the future, all of them agreeable things to those who are not young and see their future behind them. So he talked to Bob almost as if he was one of the Bench of Bishops. He was familiar and jovial, and told some good stories of other bishops and even one of an archbishop. And he suggested to Bob that he rather wanted to see what a motor-car was like.

"There is a prejudice against them here," said the bishop. "Perhaps a natural prejudice among those who own chickens and dogs and children. But Providence works in a mysterious way, and I should be the last to hasten to blame even the gentleman known as a road hog. I begin to perceive an unwonted sprightliness in the villagers as the elimination of the unfit, the rheumatic, the undecided, and the foolish proceeds apace. A young man, who told me that he had in the course of his career as an owner of cars killed nearly a thousand dogs, two thousand five hundred fowls, several aged persons, some idiots, and a policeman, said that he noticed nowadays an air of bright alertness in his immediate neighbourhood which was at once a pleasure and an encouragement. He asserted that the dogs who remained were of a higher type of intellect than the others; and he said that even the fowls now stood sideways in the road and used their natural advantage of looking both ways at once. There was, too, a great improvement in village children and even in policemen. Oh, yes, I think much may be said for the motor-car."

"I should very much like to take you out in one, my lord," said Bob.

The bishop smiled graciously.

"You shall, my boy, as soon as this matter of Penelope is settled. I shall greatly enjoy passing rapidly through the country. I think of buying one for purposes of my pastoral visitations. Perhaps I may wake up some of my more somnolent clergy. I may even raise their general intellectual average, which is low, really low."

Bob's chauffeur put up at the Angel, but Bob himself had a bed in the palace, and dined in state with the bishop and Bradstock. They discussed Penelope all dinner-time, even before Ridley, for, as the bishop explained, Ridley took no interest in anything whatever but wine.

"I believe," said the bishop, with a chuckle, "that I might venture in his presence to advocate the disestablishment of the Church, or to give vent to heretical or even atheistical sentiments without his being aware that I was doing anything surprising, improper, or unusual. By all means, let us talk before Ridley. How do you think Bob should proceed, Bradstock?"

"He must stay in his car near, but not too near, the post-office," said Bradstock. "If Bob is properly goggled, this George Smith, whom we suppose to bring Pen's letters and telegrams, will not notice him. Shall you know him, Bob?"

"Rather," said Bob. "He walks very queerly. I could tell him a mile off."

"Very well, then," Bradstock continued, "when he goes, you will follow him at a distance. He must not be lost sight of."

"I much underrate our young friend's enterprise if he loses him," said the bishop. "There are occasions when exceeding the legal limit becomes a duty, Bob."

"Rather," said Bob. "Oh, I'll do it."

They calculated that the _Times_ would reach Pen about noon, as they believed she must be within twenty miles of Spilsborough. Bob accordingly arranged to take up his watch at the post-office before one o'clock.

"And perhaps to-morrow night the mystery will be solved," said the bishop. "It is really remarkable. I am not at all able to follow Penelope's mind."

Bob explained it to him.

"They ragged her," he said,--by "they" meaning Titania and others,--"and she loves peace and hates showing off, and she's as obstinate as a pig. And grandmother said she was to be married in Westminster Abbey by a bishop, and that put her back up. Oh, Pen's easy to understand, I think."

"You have no idea whom she has really married?" asked the bishop.

"Not much," said Bob. "I give it up. I've thought it was all of 'em, and every one has done or said something that could be taken both ways. I was sure it was Goby, and then I was certain it was Bramber, and then I fairly knew it was Rivaulx, and I could have sworn it was Plant. And I'm very much worried by what occurred at Oxford. This new Bunting was very surprising."

The bishop had not heard of the new Bunting, and listened to Bob's story with great interest.

"The world is a very surprising place," said the bishop, with emphasis; "a very surprising place indeed. We do not need to go to Africa for new things. We are surrounded by the unexpected, by the marvellous. Bob's delightful story makes me feel that no one can reckon with certainty upon anything. I am half-inclined to think that this new Bunting must be a relation of the other Bunting, and that Penelope has met him, been struck with him, and has married him and lives in temporary retirement, while her husband struggles with Thucydides under a sofa. But after to-morrow we shall know more."

"I hope so," said Bradstock.

"I feel sure of it," said the bishop.

And Bob went to bed.

"Do you know, Bradstock," said the bishop, as he stroked his leg, which was a very reasonable leg for a bishop, "I wonder you didn't think I had married Penelope."

"Good heavens!" said Bradstock, "have you?"

"Certainly not," replied the bishop, "but it is odd she should be near Spilsborough, isn't it?"

"She must be somewhere," said Bradstock, rather irritably. "Hang it! the girl must be somewhere."

"When you think of it, she must," said the bishop. "Yes, yes, you are right. Still, Spilsborough--yes, it's odd, but not remarkable. As you say, she must be somewhere. I hope it's not the Jew, Bradstock."

So did Bradstock.

"It looks very much as if she was ashamed of him. But I'm incapable of judging, not having been married," said the bishop.

"I've been married twice," said Bradstock, "and Pen is a woman, which means she resembles no other woman in any respect whatever as regards her ways, manners, customs, and thoughts."

"You say that coolly?" asked the bishop.

"Icily," replied Bradstock.

The bishop shook his head.

"You surprise me," said the bishop, "and I think I will go to bed."

Bradstock went to bed, too.

"I shouldn't be surprised if she had married the bishop and was under this roof now," said Bradstock. "Nothing would surprise me unless I discover she's married to Rivaulx or Bramber. I don't think I should mind either of 'em."

And next day at half-past twelve Bob and his chauffeur took up a position near the post-office. As Geordie Smith knew Bradstock, he kept quietly at the palace. But the interested bishop who had not married Penelope kept bustling about the neighbourhood in quite an excitement.

"I wish I was coming with you, Bob."

"Oh, do!" said Bob.

"I almost think it would be advisable," said the bishop. "What I said would have weight with Penelope, I believe."

"I rather wish you'd come," cried Bob. "It would be fun, and you said you'd like to go in a motor-car."

"So I did," said the bishop, "but I've never been in one. No one has seen me in one. I fear a crowd would assemble."

"At any rate, my lord, you might get in and sit down a minute."

The bishop looked around.

"I really think I will," he said. And he entered the car.

"This is really comfortable, Bob, very comfortable, quite like an armchair. Is your driver a good one?"

"A ripper," said Bob. "The best they have where I got the car. It's not mine, but when I get all the money that Gordon owes me, I'll buy one."

The chauffeur got down and did something inexplicable to the machinery with a spanner. And the spanner broke.

"I'll just run across and get a new one, sir," said the chauffeur.

"It's getting late," said Bob. "Don't be long, and before you go start her up."

The driver set her going, and the bishop caught hold of Bob.

"You're not off? This is very surprising. It makes a very curious noise."

"There won't be any to speak of when we get her moving," said Bob. "You see the engine is going, and when we like we can start at once."

He was happy, bright, and eager.

"There's a motor-car coming," whispered the bishop.

Bob jumped.