Ill news spreads like circles on water when a stone is thrown in. Barker, the old sexton, a white-haired, sinner, was the first to discover the loss. He had gone to the at seven in the morning to make ready the church for early celebration, and on going to the altar he had noticed that the cup was missing. Nothing else had been touched. At once the old man had off to see the vicar, and in a quavering voice related what had taken place, finishing with a hope that he would not be blamed for the loss.  
"You locked the chapel up last night?" asked Mr Tempest, sorely , for indeed this was sacrilege and not a common robbery.
 
"'Deed and I did!" replied Barker, sturdily. "And I took the key home with me. My wife saw me place it on its nail just inside the door."
 
"Was the church door locked?"
 
"Fast locked, sir. And all the windows fastened. I went round the chapel to see if I could find any sign."
 
"When did you leave the church last night, Barker?"
 
"At nine o'clock, after I made everything right for the night. It was after evening service, if you mind, Mr Tempest. Then I went home and put the key in its place. My Joan and I went then to a neighbour for a bit of supper. We got home again about eleven."
 
"And the key was still on its nail?"
 
"Well, sir," said Barker, scratching his white locks, "I didn't look. But it was there this morning; so it could not have been taken away. Besides, my Joan locked the door of our cottage. No one could have got in."
 
"The cup was on the altar when you left the church last night?"
 
"On the altar where it ought to be. But this morning it's nowhere to be seen. I hope you don't think it's my fault, sir."
 
"No," replied Mr Tempest. "I cannot see that you are to blame. But this is a very serious matter, Barker. I did not know that there was anyone in Colester who would have committed such a crime."
 
"It's terrible," sighed the sexton. "And what that poor lass Pearl will say I don't know."
 
"She must not hear of it," said Raston, who entered at the moment. "She thinks so much of the cup that in her present state of health its loss may do her much harm."
 
"Is she very ill, Raston?"
 
"Yes, sir. Much worse than she was last night. But Mrs Jeal is giving her all attention, and I have sent Dr James. But about this loss, sir?"
"We had better go to the chapel, Raston, and see with our own eyes."
 
Followed by Barker, still protesting that it was not his fault, the vicar and the curate went up to the church. It was surrounded with a crowd of people, for the news had spread quickly. Some looked in at the door, but no one had ventured to enter, as each one was afraid if he did an might be levelled against him. Mr Tempest told Harris, the local policeman, to keep back the crowd, and entered the chapel followed by his curate. All was as Barker had said. There was the altar covered with its white cloth, and with the flowers still in the vases. The crucifix was also there; but not a sign of the cup. It had vanished . Tempest sighed.
 
"A terrible thing for the man who stole it," he muttered. "This is no common robbery. Raston, let us examine the church."
 
The two went round it carefully, but could find nothing for a long time likely to enlighten them as to the cause of the robbery. Then in the lepers' window, a small opening at the side of the chancel, Raston discovered that some of the stones had been chipped. "I believe the church was entered through this window," said Raston, but the vicar was inclined to doubt.
 
"The window is so small that no grown man could have got through," he said.
 
They went outside, and certainly against the wall and immediately under the window were marks, and scratches of boots, as though someone might have climbed the wall. Also the sides of the window were broken, as though a way had been found through. The lepers' window was so small that no care had been taken to put in glass or iron bars. Besides, no one had ever expected that the chapel would be robbed. In all its centuries of history nothing up till now had ever been taken from it. And now the most precious thing of all had vanished!
 
"And during my occupation of the Vicarage," said Mr Tempest. "It is really terrible!"
 
However, in spite of the loss, he held the service as usual, and as a great number of people, attracted by the news of the robbery, had come, the chapel was quite full. Service over, Tempest returned to the Vicarage, and found Mr Pratt waiting to see him.
 
"This is a nice thing!" said Pratt, looking annoyed, as well he might, seeing that his magnificent gift had disappeared. "I did not know that you had thieves in the parish, Mr Tempest!"
 
"Neither did I," the vicar, sitting down. "Hitherto we have been singularly from crime. And now one of the very worst sort has befallen us! Not a robbery, Mr Pratt. Sacrilege, sir, sacrilege!"
 
The American turned rather white as Tempest . He had not regarded the robbery save as a common one. The idea that it was sacrilege placed it in a new light. Yet Mr Pratt was sharp enough to have guessed this before. The wonder was that he had not done so.
 
"What are you going to do?" he asked, after a pause.
 
"Raston has sent for the police at Portfront. I expect the will come over this afternoon."
 
Pratt his shoulders. "I don't think much of the police," he said. "The detectives are stupid enough; but the police—oh, Lord! I beg your pardon, Mr Tempest; I forgot myself."
 
"No matter, no matter," said Tempest, wearily. "I can think of nothing save our great loss. And your gift, too, Mr Pratt! Terrible!"
 
"Well," said the American, cheerfully, "if this cup can't be found, I guess I must find you another one."
 
"The cup shall be found," cried the vicar, . "The culprit must belong to this parish, else he would not have known the lepers' window in the chapel. We shall find the guilty person yet, Mr Pratt."
 
"I hope so," said Pratt, with another ; "but he seems to have got away very cleverly. I shall see you this afternoon when you interview the inspector, Mr Tempest. I should like to have a hand in the discovery."
 
"Certainly, certainly. Who but you, the giver of the cup, should wish to help? Come here this afternoon, Mr Pratt."
 
As Pratt left the Vicarage he met Sybil, who looked sad. "Don't take on so, Miss Tempest," he said; "we'll find the cup yet."
 
"I was not thinking so much of that," explained Sybil; "but this morning my poor dear Leo went away."
 
"When is he coming back?"
 
"Towards the end of next week. I wonder who can have taken the cup?"
 
Pratt , an unusual thing for so good-natured a man. "No doubt the Portfront police will tell us," he said; "but I haven't much opinion of law officers myself, Miss Sybil. I once lost a lot of in London, and the thief was never found. Are you fond of gems? Come to my house and I'll show you my collection. I have several thousand pounds' worth."
 
"Is it not dangerous to keep them in your house after this robbery?"
 
Pratt laughed. "I don't think a thief would steal them so easily as the cup!" he laughed. "I have a good dog and a capital revolver. No, Miss Sybil, I can look after my property well, I assure you."
 
When he went away Sybil sighed and sought her room. The departure of Leo had left her very sad. She did not know what would become of him. He would pay his debts and then for South Africa. In that case she would not see him again for months. Perhaps never—for it might be that some bullet would lay him low on the veldt. However, for the sake of her father, she strove to assume a light-hearted demeanour. The vicar felt the loss of the cup keenly. And although Sybil thought he had treated her hardly in her love affair, she laid all thoughts of self aside so as to comfort him in his trouble.
 
As for Pratt, he walked back to his own house. At the foot of the Castle Hill he met Mrs Gabriel, who seemed to be in a great state of indignation. As usual, her anger was directed against Leo.
 
"He came to me last night and said that he was going up to London to pay his debts. This morning he went off at seven without taking leave. Now, Mr Pratt, you have been giving him the money to pay his debts."
 
"Indeed I have not, Mrs Gabriel," said Pratt, quite prepared for this question. "I have not given him a sixpence."
 
"Then where did he get so large a sum?" asked the lady, anxiously.
 
"I don't know. He told me that someone had lent it to him."
 
"A likely story! As if anyone here would trust him with money without a guarantee! Mr Pratt—" Here Mrs Gabriel stopped and her face went white. A thought had struck her and she was about to speak. But she saved herself in time and stared at her companion.
 
"What is the matter?" said Pratt, anxiously. He thought she would faint, a weakness he had never hitherto associated with Mrs Gabriel.
 
"Nothing," she replied in a strangled voice. "But Leo—I must see Frank," and without another word she hurried away.
 
Pratt stared after her as he could not what she meant. Then he shrugged his shoulders and went back to The Nun's House. That same afternoon he called again at the Vicarage, and there found Mr Tempest in with a grey-haired man whom he introduced as Inspector German. The police officer, who had a shrewd face with keen eyes, nodded in a friendly manner. "I understand you gave this cup to the chapel, Mr Pratt," he said. "Pity it is lost."
 
"A great pity," replied Pratt, who was making a thorough examination of the man, and now seemed much more at ease than when he had entered. "I hope the thief has gone away, however. I have in my house several thousand pounds' worth of gems, and I don't want him to come after them."
 
"How do you know it was a man?" asked German, quietly.
 
"I don't know," responded the American, with a stare and a laugh. "I only speak as others do. For my part, I believe that there were two people concerned in the robbery—a man and a boy."
 
"Certainly a boy," replied Tempest, looking up. "No one but a small boy could have forced himself through that window."
 
"Then you don't think, Mr Tempest, that a woman can have had anything to do with the matter?"
 
Tempest stared. The idea seemed ridiculous. "I do not think a woman would commit so wicked an act," he said stiffly.
 
"Oh, as to that," interposed Pratt, "women are as wicked as men, and worse when the fit takes them. But I see what Mr Inspector means. He has heard of Pearl Darry's devotion to the cup."
 
"It was not Pearl!" cried Mr Tempest, indignantly. "I am sure of that. Why, the poor child regarded that cup as something too holy to be touched—as it was," added the vicar, .
 
"Well," said German, after a pause, "I have been talking to your villagers about her. It seems that she was always haunting the chapel and looking at the cup. She might have been seized with a desire to have it for her very own. She is insane, I believe, and insane people have very mad ideas. Also she is small and could easily have forced herself through the lepers' window, of which she would know the position."
 
Pratt looked with contempt at the officer. He was even more stupid than he had given him credit for. "You can rest easy, Mr Inspector," he said. "It was not Pearl who stole my cup. She has been ill in bed for the last few days and unable to move, as Mrs Jeal and Dr James will tell you."
 
"I must make certain of that myself," said the inspector. "Will you come with me, Mr Pratt?"
 
"Not I," replied the American. "I think you are going on a wild-goose chase. The best thing for you to do, Mr Inspector, is to see if any vagabonds have been in the village lately."
 
"I have already done so," replied German, coolly; "and the villagers assure me that no stranger has been seen hereabouts for some days. However, I am willing to give this girl the benefit of the doubt. But I must see her."
 
As Pratt still refused to come and Tempest was to call at the cottage of Mrs Jeal on such an errand, the inspector went himself. He found no difficulty in entering, as Raston was at the door. All the same the curate was indignant on hearing the accusation. He took German into the , but refused—and in this he was backed up by the doctor—to let the inspector enter the bedroom of the sick girl. Not that German desired to do so after an interview with Mrs Jeal. She was most indignant at the cast upon the character of the girl she called her adopted daughter. There was a scene, and Mrs Jeal proved herself to be more than equal to the official from Portfront.
 
"I never heard anything so wicked in my life," cried Mrs Jeal. "The poor child may be mad, but not mad enough to take what is not her own. I wonder at you, sir, that you should come here on such an errand."
 
"My duty is clearly before me," replied the inspector, stiffly. "Is the girl really and truly ill?"
 
"You can take my word for that, Mr German," said Raston. "Or, if you do not believe me, here is Dr James!"
 
"Ill!" repeated the doctor, when the question was put to him. "She had a bad attack of inflammation of the lungs, and she is worse this morning than I have ever seen her. I do not wish her disturbed, Mr Inspector."
 
"She could not have gone out last night to the chapel, doctor?"
 
"Not without the risk of being dead this morning," replied James, dryly. "Besides, Pearl Darry is not a thief. No, sir. Whosoever stole that cup, it was not my patient."
 
"And I would have you know," cried Mrs Jeal, with her arms akimbo, "that I sat beside her the most of last night, and not one step did she stir off the bed."
 
"Ah, well," said German, who could not go against this evidence, "it is very plain that I am in the wrong. Unless—"
 
"There's no unless about it, sir," cried Mrs Jeal. "Pearl wasna oot o' this hoose;" in her excitement she was falling into the speech of her childhood. "I wonder at ye, I do that! , awa' wi' ye!"
 
Baffled in this quarter, the inspector took his way into the village. First he examined the chapel. Then he started out to make . For quite three days he everyone in the village with his questions and suspicions. But for all his worry he was unable to get at the truth. No tramps had been to the village. Old Barker proved his with the assistance of a wrathful wife, and there was not a single person to whom the well-meaning but blundering inspector could point as likely to have stolen the cup. Finally, he was obliged to state that he could do nothing, and withdrew himself and his underlings from Colester, much to the relief of the villagers, whom he had grievously offended by his unjust suspicions. The cup had vanished as though it had been swallowed up by the earth, and no one was able to say who had taken it.
 
"A grievous loss," sighed Mr Tempest, when he became resigned. "But I sorrow not so much for the theft of the cup as for the awful sacrilege of which the thief has been guilty." And he took occasion to refer to the terrible deed in a wrathful sermon. The villagers shook in their shoes when they heard of the ills likely to befall the thief. But not one was able to say who was guilty.
 
For a whole week things went on much as usual, and the excitement died away. Leo was still in London, and, through Pratt, Sybil had heard from him. He had seen his and had settled all his debts. He was now thinking about . Before he could do so, however, Sybil sent a message recalling him to Colester to defend his good name.
 
It so happened that Barker held his tongue for some time, but when the first effects of the fright lest he might be accused passed away, he began to talk. The old man was given to in his cups. Thus it came about that he mentioned that he believed Mr Haverleigh had taken the cup. It seemed that Barker had seen Leo near the chapel, as he was leaving it about half-past nine. Mr Haverleigh, said the old man, had seemed to recognition, and had hurried past him. Not thinking anything of the matter, Barker had left him near the chapel door. Now, however, he hinted that Leo might have had some reason to be there at so an hour. Also, he had gone away the next morning early. It was well known in Colester that the young man was in debt, and that his mother had refused to pay his debts. What, then, was more likely, people argued, than that Leo should have stolen the cup, should have taken it up to London before the loss was discovered, and should have sold it to pay his debts? In a few hours this sorry tale was all over the place, and so came to Sybil's ears. It was her father who heard it, and her father who told her.
 
"But surely you do not believe it!" cried the girl, when the accusation was made. "You have known Leo all these years! Whatever you may have against him, father, you know that he would never commit so wicked an act."
 
"I say nothing until I hear what he has to say," replied the vicar, who, for some reason, seemed to be against Leo. "But you must admit that it was strange he should be near the chapel at so late an hour. And we know that he is deeply in debt. Mrs Gabriel told me herself that he owed three hundred pounds. In a moment of madness—"
 
"I won't hear a word against Leo!" interrupted Sybil, pale but . "Not if an angel came down to accuse him would I believe him guilty! How could he have got the key? And if he did not get the key, how could he have forced himself through that small window?"
 
"I say nothing until I hear his defence," said the vicar, ; "but the whole affair is highly suspicious."
 
"I never knew you to be unjust before, father," cried Sybil. "Mrs Gabriel has infected you with her dislike of Leo. I shall say nothing myself, although I could say more than you think. But I shall send at once to Leo, and he shall come back to this wicked accusation."
 
Without listening to another word, Sybil ran off to see Pratt, who was equally indignant. "It is disgraceful," he said furiously. "Leo never would do such a thing, never! Be comforted, my dear. I'll ride over to Portfront this very day and send a wire to him."
 
And this he did without delay. More than that, he defended Leo when he returned; so did Raston. Hale kept silent. But the majority of the villagers were against the young man. Leo returned in disgrace.