The sight of a clergyman speaking with a seedy-looking man might excite comment, but not suspicion.

After all, it was the business of clergymen to talk to seedy-looking men, and they might be seen engaged in the most earnest and confidential conversation and he would suffer no loss of caste.
Sam Stay looked at the black coat and the white collar in doubt.
"How long have you been a clergyman, Mr.Milburgh ?" he asked.
"Oh--er--for a little while," said Mr.Milburgh glibly, trying to remember what he had heard about Sam Stay.

But the little man saved him the labour of remembering.
"They took me away to a place in the country," he said, "but you know I wasn't mad, Mr.Milburgh._He_ wouldn't have had a fellow hanging round him who was mad, would he?
You're a clergyman, eh ?" He nodded his head wisely, then asked, with a sudden eagerness: "Did he make you a clergyman?
He could do wonderful things, could Mr.Lyne, couldn't he?
Did you preach over him when they buried him in that little vault in 'Ighgate?
I've seen it--I go there every day, Mr.Milburgh," said Sam.

"I only found it by accident.

'Also Thornton Lyne, his son.' There's two little doors that open like church doors." Mr.Milburgh drew a long sigh.