rt silence; then:

"And you have been down to the Gables again?"

"I was there on Saturday, but there's not a scrap of evidence. The man
undoubtedly died of fright in the same way as Maddison. The place ought
to be pulled down; it's unholy."

"Unholy is the word," I said. "I never heard anything like it. This M.
Lejay had no enemies?--there could be no possible motive?"

"None whatever. He was a business man from Marseilles, and his affairs
necessitated his remaining in or near London for some considerable time;
therefore, he decided to make his headquarters here, temporarily, and
leased the Gables with that intention."

Nayland Smith was pacing the floor with increasing rapidity; he was
tugging at the lobe of his left ear and his pipe had long since gone
out.

CHAPTER XXV. THE BELLS

I started to my feet as a tall, bearded man swung open the door and
hurled himself impetuously into the room. He wore a silk hat, which
fitted him very ill, and a black frock coat which did not fit him at
all.

"It's all right, Petrie!" cried the apparition; "I've leased the
Gables!"

It was Nayland Smith! I stared at him in amazement

"The first time I have employed a disguise," continued my friend
rapidly, "since the memorable episode of the false pigtail." He threw
a small brown leather grip upon the floor. "In case you should care
to visit the house, Petrie, I have brought these things. My tenancy
commences to-night!"

Two days had elapsed, and I had entirely forgotten the strange story of
the Gables which Inspector Weymouth had related to us; evidently it was
otherwise with my friend, and utterly at a loss for an explanation of
his singular behavior, I stooped mechanically and opened the grip.
It contained an odd assortment of garments, and amongst other things
several gray wigs and a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles.

Kneeling there with this strange litter about me, I looked up amazedly.
Nayland Smith, with the unsuitable silk hat set right upon the back of
his head, was pacing the room excitedly, his fuming pipe protruding from
the tangle of factitious beard.

"You see, Petrie," he began again, rapidly, "I did not entirely trust
the agent. I've leased the house in the name of Professor Maxton..."

"But, Smith," I cried, "what possible reason can there be for disguise?"

"There's every reason," he snapped.

"Why should you interest yourself in the Gables?"

"Does no explanation occur to you?"

"None whateve