, lofty and
imposing. The floor was of oak, almost black with age, the walls were
beautifully wainscoted and carved, and here and there tall armoured
figures looked down upon me in disdainful silence. But the crowning
glory of all was the magnificent staircase that ran up from the centre.
It was wide enough and strong enough to have taken a coach and four, the
pillars that supported it were exquisitely carved, as were the banisters
and rails. Half-way up was a sort of landing, from which again the
stairs branched off to right and left.

Above this landing-place, and throwing a stream of coloured light down
into the hall, was a magnificent stained-glass window, and on a lozenge
in the centre of it the arms that had so much puzzled me on the gateway.
A nobler hall no one could wish to possess, but brooding over it was the
same air of poverty and neglect I had noticed all about the place. By
the time I had taken in these things, my guide had reached a door at the
farther end. He bade me enter, and I did so, to find a tall, elderly man
of stern aspect awaiting my coming.

He, like his servant, was dressed entirely in black, with the exception
of a white tie, which gave his figure a semi-clerical appearance. His
face was long and somewhat pinched, his chin and upper lip were shaven,
and his snow-white, close-cropped whiskers ran in two straight lines
from his jaw up to a level with his piercing, hawk-like eyes. He would
probably have been about seventy-five years of age, but he did not carry
it well. In a low, monotonous voice he bade me welcome, and pointed to a
chair, himself remaining standing.

"My servant tells me you say your name is Hatteras?" he began.

"That is so," I replied. "My father was James Dymoke Hatteras."

He looked at me very sternly for almost a minute, not for a second
betraying the slightest sign of surprise. Then putting his hands
together, finger tip to finger tip, as I discovered later was his
invariable habit while flunking, he said solemnly:----

"James was my younger brother. He misconducted himself gravely in
England and was sent abroad. After a brief career of spendthrift
extravagance in Australia, we never heard of him again. You may be his
son, but then, on the other hand, of course, you may not. I have no
means of judging."

"I give you my word," I answered, a little nettled by his speech and the
insinuation contained in it; "but if you want further proof, I've got a
Latin book in my