on he
expected. Once or twice his guests suggested shooting pigeons at
sundown, but he always had some excuse for opposing the proposal, and
thus the party, unsuspecting the reason, were kept away from that
particular lonely spot.

In my youth I had sat many a quiet hour there in the darkening gloom and
shot many a pigeon, therefore I knew the wood well, and was able to
watch the tenant of Rannoch from points where he least suspected the
presence of another.

Once, when I was alone with Muriel, I mentioned her father's capacity
for walking alone, whereupon she said--

"Oh, yes, he was always fond of walking. He used to take me with him
when we first came here, but he always went so far that I refused to go
any more."

She never once mentioned Woodroffe. I allowed her plenty of opportunity
for doing so, chaffing her about her forthcoming marriage in order that
she might again refer to him. But never did his name pass her lips. I
understood that he had gone abroad--that was all.

Often when alone I reflected upon my curious adventure on that night
when I met Olinto, and of my narrow escape from the hands of my unknown
enemies. I wondered if that ingenious and dastardly attempt upon my life
had really any connection with that strange incident at Leghorn. As day
succeeded day, my mind became filled by increasing suspicion. Mystery
surrounded me on every hand.

Indeed, by one curious fact alone it was increased a hundredfold.

Late one afternoon, when I had been out shooting all day with the
Rannoch party, I drove back to the castle in the Perth-cart with three
other men, and found the ladies assembled in the great hall with tea
ready. A welcome log-fire was blazing in the huge old grate, for in
October it is chilly and damp in Scotland and a fire is pleasant at
evening.

Muriel was seated upon the high padded fender--like those one has at
clubs--which always formed a cosy spot for the ladies, especially after
dinner. When I entered, she rose quickly and handed me my cup,
exclaiming as she looked at me--

"Oh, Mr. Gregg! what a state you are in!"

"Yes, I was after snipe, and slipped into a bog," I laughed. "But it
was early this morning, and the mud has dried."

"Come with me, and I'll get you a brush," she urged. And I followed her
through the long corridors and upstairs to a small sitting-room which
was her own little sanctum, where she worked and read--a cosy little
place with two queer old windows in the