Was it possible that
the blind man had any suspicion of what was intended? He held his
breath, and made another vicious cast far up the rippling stream.

CHAPTER IX

REVEALS A MYSTERIOUS BUSINESS

In the few days which followed, Lady Heyburn's attitude towards
Gabrielle became one of marked affection. She even kissed her in the
breakfast-room each morning, called her "dear," and consulted her upon
the day's arrangements.

Poor Sir Henry was but a cipher in the household. He usually took all
his meals alone, except dinner, and was very seldom seen, save perhaps
when he would come out for an hour or so to walk in the park, led by his
daughter, or else, alone, tapping before him with his stout stick. On
such occasions he would wear a pair of big blue spectacles to hide the
unsightliness of his gray, filmy eyes. Sometimes he would sit on one of
the garden seats on the south side of the house, enjoying the sunshine,
and listening to the songs of the birds, the hum of the insects, and the
soft ripples of the burn far below. And on such occasions one of his
wife's guests would join him to chat and cheer him, for everyone felt
pity for the lonely man living his life of darkness.

No one was more full of words of sympathy than James Flockart. Gabrielle
longed to warn her father of that man, but dared not do so. There was a
reason--a strong reason--for her silence. Sir Henry had declared that he
was interested in the man's intellectual conversation, and that he
rather liked him, though he had never looked upon his face. In some
things the old gentleman was ever ready to adopt his daughter's advice
and rely upon her judgment; but in others he was quite obstinate and
treated her pointed remarks with calm indifference.

One day, at Lady Heyburn's suggestion, Gabrielle, accompanied by
Flockart and another of the guests, a retired colonel, had driven over
in the big car to Perth to make a call; and on their return she spent
some hours in the library with her father, attending to his
correspondence.

That morning a big packet of those typed reports in French had arrived
in the usual registered, orange-coloured envelope, and after she had
read them over to the Baronet, he had given her the key, and she had got
out the code-book. Then, at his instructions, she had written upon a
yellow telegraph-form a cipher message addressed to the mysterious
"Meteforos, Paris." It read, when decoded:--

"Arrange with amethyst. I agree th