generally defeated. "There will be a lot of novelties before I've finished
with them," Ronder said to himself.

He started his investigations by paying calls on Bentinck-Major and Canon
Foster. Bentinck-Major lived at the top of Orange Street, in a fine house
with a garden, and Foster lived in one of four tumble-down buildings
behind the Cathedral, known from time immemorial as Canon's Yard.

The afternoon of his visit was about three days after a dinner-party at
the Castle. He had seen and heard enough at that dinner to amuse him for
many a day; he considered it to have been one of the most entertaining
dinners at which he had ever been present. It had been here that he had
heard for the first time of the Pybus St. Anthony living. Brandon had been
present, and he observed Brandon's nervousness, and gathered enough to
realise that this would be a matter of considerable seriousness. He was to
know a great deal more about it before the afternoon was over.

As he walked through the town on the way to Orange Street he came upon
Ryle, the Precentor. Ryle looked the typical clergyman, tall but not too
tall, here a smile and there a smile, with his soft black hat, his
trousers too baggy at the knees, his boots and his gold watch-chain both
too large.

He cared, with serious devotion, for the Cathedral music and sang the
services beautifully, but he would have been able to give more time to his
work were he not so continuously worrying as to whether people were vexed
with him or no. His idea of Paradise was a place where he could chant
eternal services and where everybody liked him. He was a good man, but
weak, and therefore driven again and again into insincerity. It was as
though there was for ever in front of him the consciousness of some secret