d, no other foot had for three years been set save
that of the old servant who cleaned it out. It was a round room,
conforming to the shape of the tower in which it was situated, with a
low ceiling, a single narrow, ivy-wreathed window, and the simplest of
furniture. An old carpet, a single chair, a deal table, and a small
shelf of books made up the whole contents. On the table stood a
full-length photograph of a woman--I took no particular notice of the
features, but I remember, that a certain gracious gentleness was the
prevailing impression. Beside it were a large black japanned box and
one or two bundles of letters or papers fastened together with elastic
bands.

Our interview was a short one, for Sir John Bollamore perceived that I
was soaked, and that I should change without delay. The incident led,
however, to an instructive talk with Richards, the agent, who had never
penetrated into the chamber which chance had opened to me. That very
afternoon he came to me, all curiosity, and walked up and down the
garden path with me, while my two charges played tennis upon the lawn
beside us.

"You hardly realize the exception which has been made in your favour,"
said he. "That room has been kept such a mystery, and Sir John's
visits to it have been so regular and consistent, that an almost
superstitious feeling has arisen about it in the household. I assure
you that if I were to repeat to you the tales which are flying about,
tales of mysterious visitors there, and of voices overheard by the
servants, you might suspect that Sir John had relapsed into his old
ways."

"Why do you say relapsed?" I asked.

He looked at me in surprise.

"Is it possible," said he, "that Sir John Bollamore's previous history
is unknown to you?"

"Absolutely."

"You astound me. I thought that every man in England knew something of
his antecedents. I should not mention the matter if it were not that
you are now one of ourselves, and that the facts might come to your
ears in some harsher form if I were silent upon them. I always took it
for granted that you knew that you were in the service of 'Devil'
Bollamore."

"But why 'Devil'?" I asked.

"Ah, you are young and the world moves fast, but twenty years ago the
name of 'Devil' Bollamore was one of the best known in London. He was
the leader of the fastest set, bruiser, driver, gambler, drunkard--a
survival of the old type, and as bad as the worst of them."

I stared at him i