The Scarlet Band

"I beg your pardon?" Walton spluttered. "The Preacher, you say?"

"You are handmaidens of the Spirit, I presume?" Helms showed more aplomb.

That's right." Polly smiled. "He is a clever fellow," she said to Kate.

"But...!" Walton remained nonplused. "What are you doing here?"

Polly's expression said he wasn't such a clever fellow. It vexed him; he'd seen that expression aimed his way too often while in Athelstan Helms' company. "Well," Polly said, "the Preacher believes--heavens, everyone knows--the spirit and body are linked. We wouldn't be people if they weren't."

"Quite right," Helms murmured.

"And"--Kate took up the tale again--"the Preacher's mighty grateful to the two of you for all you did for him. And he thought we might show you how grateful he is, like."

"He's mighty grateful," Polly affirmed. "All the way to London grateful, he is. We are."

"Is he? Are you? I say!" Dr. Walton was sometimes slow on the uptake, but he'd definitely caught on now. "This could be a jolly interesting voyage home, what?"

Athelstan Helms was hanging the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the suite's outer door. "Brilliant deduction, Walton," he said.