ed the head of his ancient favorite.

"He dies on Friday," he said. "The vet will come then. I assure you the
thought gives me very genuine pain."

"He has earned euthanasia, surely. What is that fine tree with great
white flowers? I have seen the like before, but am sadly ignorant of
horticulture."

"A tulip-tree," said Mary. "It's supposed to be the finest in
Devonshire."

"A beautiful object. But all is beautiful here. An English spring can
be divine. I shall ask you to drive me to primroses presently. Those are
azaleas--that bank of living fire--superb!"

He praised the scene, and spoke about the formal gardens of Italy.

Then, when luncheon was finished and he had smoked a couple of
cigarettes, Signor Mannetti rose, bowed to Sir Walter, and said:

"Now, if you please."

They accompanied and watched him silently, while his eyes wandered round
the Grey Room.

The place was unchanged, and the dancing cherubs on the great chairs
seemed to welcome daylight after their long darkness.

The visitor wandered slowly from end to end of the chamber, nodded to
himself, and became animated. Then he checked his gathering excitement,
and presently spoke.

"I think I am going to help you, Sir Walter," he said.

"That is great and good news, signor."

Then the old man became inconsequent, and turned from the room to the
contents. If, indeed, he had found a clue, he appeared in no haste to
pursue it. He entered now upon a disquisition concerning the furniture,
and they listened patiently, for he had showed that any interruption
troubled him. But it seemed that he enjoyed putting a strain upon their
impatience.

"Beautiful pieces," he said, "but not Spanish, as you led me to suppose.
Spanish chestnut wood, but nothing else Spanish about them. They are
of the Italian Renaissance, and it is most seemly that Italian
craftsmanship of such high order should repose here, under an Italian
ceiling. Strange to say, my sleeping apartment at Rome closely resembles
this room. I live in a villa that dates from the fifteenth century, and
belonged to the Colonna. My chests are more superb than these; but your
suite--the bed and chairs--I confess are better than mine. There is,
however, a reason for that. Let us examine them for the sake of Mrs.
May. Are these carved chairs, with their reliefs of dancing putti,
familiar to her--the figures, I mean?"

Mary shook her head.

"Then it is certain that in your Italian wanderings you di