working for his own benefit I'm a double-dyed Dutchman."

Sir John gazed at him open-eyed. "I can't believe you," he said.

"Don't, if it hurts you," the burglar replied; "but I'll make a proposal, to show you I have no doubts about it myself. If you'll have me as equal partner with you in this concession matter, and leave me to manage it my own way, I'll take over your pay-day to-morrow, and be jolly well pleased with the bargain."

"You'll meet my payments to-morrow!" gasped Sir John, who for some little time had been wondering whether he were awake or asleep, or in a post-mortem delirium consequent on a revolver shot. "You'll meet my payments!"

Once more the burglar pulled out the cigar box. "Do have another," he said persuasively.

Sir John took one mechanically, but after trying in vain to light it he put it down.

"Oh, Dicky Thompson," soliloquised the burglar, "this explains a good deal. We all marvelled at your luck, for we knew you didn't deserve it. You once sold me a spavined mare. If this isn't retribution I don't know what is. Now, Carder, let's get to bed. You must give me a shakedown somewhere. We've to be very spry and early to-morrow. There's our partnership to fix up first thing, and I've to show these cigars at the Burglars' Club in the evening, and on Saturday I sail for South America with this precious document and a sharp legal practitioner. And I'll take your revolver with me in case the lawyer gets hoarse. Oh, I was forgetting. A telegram form, please. Where do you bank? County and City. Right. It's nine thousand you want, isn't it? Right again." The burglar filled up the form, counted his words, took the necessary stamps from his pocket book, and affixed them. "Now, we'll just drop this in the first pillar-box we meet, and by the time we've signed our partnership there'll be enough at the County and City to meet your payments."

Sir John looked at him admiringly. "Are there many as smart as you at the Burglars' Club?" he asked.

"Smarter," said the burglar modestly. "I'm about the clumsiest of the lot. Some day I'll tell you how Ribston stole the Bishop of Bister's crozier, and then you'll know why he is generally all there in the House. But come along now. All right; you close up and put the lights out. I'll take a short cut, and be waiting outside."

It was fully five minutes before Sir John had locked up his papers and had put on his coat. As he emerged from his warehouse door he was promptly collared by a policeman, while another seized him firmly from behind. A third was in possession of the handcuffed burglar, and an inspector stood by with a box of cigars under his arm.

"Pore old pard!" said the burglar, with ostentatious sympathy. "They've nabbed us both at larst."

"Now come along quietly, will you?" said the first policeman to the struggling knight.

"Leave go!" shouted his indignant charge. "I'm Sir John Carder."

The policeman laughed derisively, but something in the voice made the inspector flash his light on him.

"Sir John it is," he gasped.

The policemen released their hold, and gazed ruefully at their late prisoner.

"What do you mean by this, Markham?" demanded Sir John.

"Very sorry, sir. Hope you'll overlook it. We caught this chap red-handed, and he said he was working the job with a pal who was tidying things up a bit."

"Well, he was quite right. He is a friend of mine."

The inspector was more astonished than ever. "He came through one of the packing-room windows, Sir John," he expostulated, "and he had a boxful of cigars in his pocket."

"Not full, inspector," said the burglar, sadly. "I told you my friend would explain matters, but you wouldn't listen."

"Release him," said Sir John.

The inspector unlocked the handcuffs, saluted stiffly, turned his men round, and was marching off with them, when the burglar called out, "My cigars, please."

The inspector came back, handed the box over, saluted even more stiffly than before, and retired.

Sir John and the burglar watched the retreating escort out of sight.

"It's been a narrow squeak for both of us to-night," said the burglar reflectively.

"It has," replied Sir John.

Then they turned the corner together.

II.

The Bishop of Bister's dinner hour was eight o'clock. With unfailing regularity, when at the palace, he entered the drawing-room at 7.58 in order to collect his family and any guests. His annoyance may therefore be understood when at 7.55 on the night in question a servant brought him a card on which was written:

"Georgiowitch Kassala, Mush, L. Van, Khurd., craves audience."

"The gentleman is in the examination room, my lord," the servant added.

"A very awkward time for calling," said the Bishop, consulting his watch unnecessarily. Then, with a sigh, "Ask your mistress to keep dinner back ten minutes."

His lordship ambled to the examination room. A big man in a loose blue cassock-like garb rose at his entrance—a big-limbed, red-bearded man, with enormous eyebrows. He rose, bowed low, and sank on his knees, caught hold of the prelate's hand, caressed it gently, and finally kissed it. The Bishop was embarrassed. He preferred that sort of thing to be done before an audience, when he would play his part with the best of them, but with no spectators at all he felt uncomfortable.

"Rise," he said gently.

The red-bearded man obeyed. "I am—" he began. "I have come—ah, perhaps I had better show you my papers. I have a letter from my Patriarch." This in excellent English, with just a trace of a foreign accent.

From his capacious pocket he drew out a bundle of papers. He abstracted a letter therefrom, and handed it with evident pride to the Bishop.

It was apparently Greek, yet it was not the language his lordship of Bister had learnt at school and college. Here and there he saw a word he almost knew, yet the next one to it was a perfect stranger. He glanced at the end. There was a big seal, an extraordinary date, an impossible name.

His visitor seemed to appreciate the position. "Our Patriarch is old," he said. "He is no longer facile to read. I sometimes have difficulty myself, though I know his writing well. May I read it to you?"

He did this with great fluency and emphasis; but the Bishop understood nothing, though occasionally he thought he caught the sound of a fleeting particle.

The letter was finished. "And this," said the reader, producing a blue document, "is more earthy." It was, being from Scotland Yard, informing all and sundry that the bearer, Georgiowitch Kassala, a Christian priest, was authorised to collect subscriptions for the church of Saint Barnabas at Mush, in Khurdistan.

"Ah!" said the Bishop, with perhaps a shade of disappointment in his voice. "I hope you have been successful."

"Your Grace, I have travelled far, and not without recompense. To all I have said, 'If you give me money it is well, but if you do not it is still well.' Some have replied, 'Then we'll leave it at that,' but many have responded. See—here is my subscription book. I have begged from Batoum to Bister. I have received money in fifteen different coinages, of which the English is the finest and difficultest. Perhaps my most interesting contribution is this—see, a kopeck from Lassitudino Hospidar, the heathen cook of a Bulgarian wind-jammer, in memory of his maternal