Publisher's Synopsis
"Yes! I'm certain it was Gordon Gray-the man whose face I can never forget, and whom I could identify among a million! Gordon Gray! Returned from, the dead!" The white-haired rector, the Reverend Norton Homfray, a tall, sparely-built man of sixty-five, pursed his lips and drew a long breath. He was evidently greatly upset. He had taken off his surplice in the vestry after evening service, and now stood motionless against the old rood-screen gazing into the cavernous darkness of the empty Norman church. The congregation had dispersed into the winter darkness, wandering slowly and piously through the churchyard and out by the old lych-gate and down the hill, and old Morley, the verger, had already turned out the lights. "Yes," murmured the old clergyman, "he sat in the last pew yonder listening to me as I preached! Surely he cannot have risen from the grave, for I heard that he died at the Waldorf-Astoria in New York eighteen months ago! Forget him? Ah!" he sighed. "How can I ever forget? Why is he here in Little Farncombe, I wonder?"
