“That, I think, is for you to explain,” said Mrs. Momeby stiffly.

“Obviously,” said Clovis, “it’s a duplicate Erik that your powers of faith called into being. The question is: What are you going to do with him?”

The ashen pallor deepened in Rose-Marie’s cheeks. Mrs. Momeby clutched the genuine Erik closer to her side, as though she feared that her uncanny neighbour might out of sheer pique turn him into a bowl of goldfish.

“I found him sitting in the middle of the road,” said Rose-Marie weakly.

“You can’t take him back and leave him there,” said Clovis; “the highway is meant for traffic, not to be used as a lumber-room for disused miracles.”