d?"

"Merely an adornment, my young friend, a side branch of withered
learning, not cultivated, I fear, by your Scotland Yard. Yet I have
known country gentlemen to be skilled in it. The practice of heraldry.
I marked your arms on your Italian gates. I must look at those gates
again--they are not very good, I fear. But the arms--a chevron between
three lions--a fine coat, yet probably not so ancient as the gates."

"It was such a thing as bothered me in Florence," said Sir Walter. "I'd
seen it before somewhere, but where I know not--a bull's head of gold on
a red field."

Signor Mannetti started and laughed.

"Ha-ha! We will come to the golden bull presently, Sir Walter. You shall
meet him, I promise you!"

Then he broke off and patted his forehead.

"But I go too quickly--far too quickly indeed. I must rest my poor brain
now, or it will rattle in my head like a dry walnut. When it begins to
rattle, I know that I have done enough for the present. May I walk in
the garden again--not alone, but with your companionship?"

"Of course, unless you would like to retire and rest for a while."

"Presently I shall do so. And please permit nobody to enter the Grey
Room but myself. Not a soul must go or come without me."

Sir Walter spoke.

"You still believe the peril is material then--an active, physical
thing, controlled by a conscious human intelligence?"

"If I am right, it certainly is active enough."

They went into the garden, and Signor Mannetti, finding a snug seat in
the sun, decided to stop there. Henry and his uncle exchanged glances,
and the latter found his faith weakening, for the Italian's mind
appeared to wander. He became more and more irrelevant, as it seemed. He
spoke again of the old dog who was at his master's feet.

"Euthanasia for the aged. Why not? For that matter, I have considered
it for myself in dark moments. Have you ever wondered why we destroy
our pets, for love of them, yet suffer our fellow creatures to exist and
endure to the very dregs Nature's most fiendish methods of dissolution?
Again one of those terrible problems where mercy and religion cannot see
eye to eye."

They uttered appropriate sentiments, and again the old man changed the
subject and broke new ground.

"There was a prince--not your old dog--but a royal lad of the
East--Prince Djem, the brother of the Sultan Bajazet. Do you know that
story? Possibly not--it is unimportant enough, and to this day the
sequel of the