lls 'The Curse of
the House of Dhoon.' At Dhoon Castle there is a secret chamber, which
has engaged the pens of many so-called occultists, but which no man,
save every heir, has entered for generations. It's very location is a
secret. Measurements do not avail to find it. You would appear to know
much of my family's black secret; perhaps you know where that room
lies at Dhoon?"

"Certainly, I do," replied Dr. Cairn calmly; "it is under the moat,
some thirty yards west of the former drawbridge."

Lord Lashmore changed colour. When he spoke again his voice had lost
its _timbre_.

"Perhaps you know--what it contains."

"I do. It contains Paul, fourth Baron Lashmore, son of Mirza, the
Polish Jewess!"

Lord Lashmore reseated himself in the big armchair, staring at the
speaker, aghast.

"I thought no other in the world knew that!" he said, hollowly. "Your
studies have been extensive indeed. For three years--three whole years
from the night of my twenty-first birthday--the horror hung over me,
Dr. Cairn. It ultimately brought my grandfather to the madhouse, but
my father was of sterner stuff, and so, it seems, was I. After those
three years of horror I threw off the memories of Paul Dhoon, the
third baron--"

"It was on the night of your twenty-first birthday that you were
admitted to the subterranean room?"

"You know so much, Dr. Cairn, that you may as well know all."
Lashmore's face was twitching. "But you are about to hear what no man
has ever heard from the lips of one of my family before."

He stood up again, restlessly.

"Nearly thirty-five years have elapsed," he resumed, "since that
December night; but my very soul trembles now, when I recall it! There
was a big house-party at Dhoon, but I had been prepared, for some
weeks, by my father, for the ordeal that awaited me. Our family
mystery is historical, and there were many fearful glances bestowed
upon me, when, at midnight, my father took me aside from the company
and led me to the old library. By God! Dr. Cairn--fearful as these
reminiscences are, it is a relief to relate them--to _someone_!"

A sort of suppressed excitement was upon Lashmore, but his voice
remained low and hollow.

"He asked me," he continued, "the traditional question: if I had
prayed for strength. God knows I had! Then, his stern face very pale,
he locked the library door, and from a closet concealed beside the
ancient fireplace--a closet which, hitherto, I had not known to
exist