n he stood for a few moments in front of the curtained
window. He was a man of somewhat determined disposition, and he found
himself vaguely irritated by the liberties which had been taken with his
property. He hammered gently upon the framework with his fist, and the
windows opened readily inwards, pushing back the curtain with them.
He drew himself up on to the sill, and, squeezing himself through the
opening, landed on his feet and looked around him, a little breathless.

He found himself in a simply furnished man's sitting-room. An easel
was standing close to the window. There were reams of drawing paper and
several unfinished sketches leaning against the wall. There was a small
oak table in the middle of the room; against the wall stood an exquisite
chiffonier, on which were resting some cut-glass decanters and goblets.
There was a Turkey carpet upon the floor which matched the curtains, but
to his surprise there was not a single chair of any sort to be seen.
The walls had been distempered and were hung with one or two engravings
which, although he was no judge, he was quite sure were good. He
wandered into the back room, where he found a stove, a tea-service upon
a deal table, and several other cooking utensils, all spotlessly clean
and of the most expensive description. The walls here were plainly
whitewashed, and the floor was of hard stone. He then tried the door on
the left, which led into the larger portion of the building--the shed in
which the lifeboat had once been kept. Not only was the door locked, but
he saw at once that the lock was modern, and the door itself was secured
with heavy iron clamps. He returned to the sitting-room.

"The girl with the grey eyes was right enough," he remarked to himself.
"Mr. Fentolin has been making himself very much at home with my
property."

He withdrew the curtains, noticing, to his surprise, the heavy shutters
which their folds had partly concealed. Then he made his way out along
the passage to the front door, which from the inside he was able to open
easily enough. Leaving it carefully ajar, he went out with the intention
of making an examination of the outside of the place. Instead, however,
he paused at the corner of the building with his face turned landwards.
Exactly fronting him now, about three-quarters of a mile away, on the
summit of that strange hill which stood out like a gigantic rock in
the wilderness, was St. David's Hall. He looked at it steadily and w