k of books and theaters.

Greba Eltham, the clergyman's daughter, was a charming young hostess,
and she, with Vernon Denby, Mr. Eltham's nephew, completed the party.
No doubt the girl's presence, in part, at any rate, led us to refrain
from the subject uppermost in our minds.

These little pools of calm dotted along the torrential course of the
circumstances which were bearing my friend and me onward to unknown
issues form pleasant, sunny spots in my dark recollections.

So I shall always remember, with pleasure, that dinner-party at
Redmoat, in the old-world dining-room; it was so very peaceful, so
almost grotesquely calm. For I, within my very bones, felt it to be
the calm before the storm. When, later, we men passed to the library,
we seemed to leave that atmosphere behind us.

"Redmoat," said the Rev. J. D. Eltham, "has latterly become the theater
of strange doings."

He stood on the hearth-rug. A shaded lamp upon the big table and
candles in ancient sconces upon the mantelpiece afforded dim
illumination. Mr. Eltham's nephew, Vernon Denby, lolled smoking on the
window-seat, and I sat near to him. Nayland Smith paced restlessly up
and down the room.

"Some months ago, almost a year," continued the clergyman, "a
burglarious attempt was made upon the house. There was an arrest, and
the man confessed that he had been tempted by my collection." He waved
his hand vaguely towards the several cabinets about the shadowed room.

"It was shortly afterwards that I allowed my hobby for--playing at
forts to run away with me." He smiled an apology. "I virtually
fortified Redmoat--against trespassers of any kind, I mean. You have
seen that the house stands upon a kind of large mound. This is
artificial, being the buried ruins of a Roman outwork; a portion of the
ancient castrum." Again he waved indicatively, this time toward the
window.

"When it was a priory it was completely isolated and defended by its
environing moat. Today it is completely surrounded by barbed-wire
fencing. Below this fence, on the east, is a narrow stream, a
tributary of the Waverney; on the north and west, the high road, but
nearly twenty feet below, the banks being perpendicular. On the south
is the remaining part of the moat--now my kitchen garden; but from
there up to the level of the house is nearly twenty feet again, and the
barbed wire must also be counted with.

"The entrance, as you know, is by the way of a kind of cutting. Th