er or her very yellow hair, least of all in a bath chair drawn by her
indulgent husband after business hours. Mr. Royle was a little
solicitor, who himself flouted tradition with a flower in his coat and
a straw hat worn slightly on one side; but with him I had made friends
over an escape of gas which he treated as a joke rather than a
grievance. He seemed to me just the sort of man to humour his sort of
wife, even to the extent of packing off the servants on board wages, as
they were said to have done before leaving themselves. Certainly I never
thought of a sinister explanation until Uvo Delavoye put one into my
head, and then I had no patience with him.

"It's this heat," I declared; "it's hot enough to uproot anybody."

"I wonder," said he, "how many other places they've found too hot for
them!"

"But why should you wonder any such rot, when you say yourself that
you've never even nodded to Abercromby Royle?"

"Because I've had my eye on him all the same, Gillon, as obvious
material for the evil genius of the place."

"I see! I forgot you were spoiling for a second case."

"Case or no case," replied Uvo, "house-holds don't usually disperse at a
moment's notice, and their cook told our butcher that it was only
sprung on them this morning. I have it from our own old treasure, if you
want to know, so you may take it or leave it at that for what it's
worth. But if I had your job, Gilly, and my boss was away, I don't know
that I should feel altogether happy about my Michaelmas rent."

Nor was I quite so happy as I had been. I was spending the evening at my
friend's, but I cut it rather shorter than I had intended; and on my way
to the unlet house in which I lodged, I could not help stopping outside
the one with the drawn red blinds. They looked natural enough at this
time of night; but all the windows were shut as well; there was no sign
of life about the house. And then, as I went my way, I caught a sound
which I had just heard as I approached, but not while standing outside
the gate. It was the sound of furtive hammering--a few taps and then a
pause--but I retraced my steps too quietly to prolong the pause a second
time. It was some devil's tattoo on the very door of the empty house,
and as I reached up my hand to reply with the knocker, the door flew
open and the devil was Abercromby Royle himself.

He looked one, too, by the light of the lamp opposite, but only for a
moment. What impressed me most about our i