secrets, but to restore this
picture to its place. Or perhaps you prefer to have it down rather
than up? It isn't much of an ornament."

He scrutinized me darkly from over his shoulder, a wary gleam showing
itself in his shrewd old eyes; and the idea crossed me that the
moment might possess more significance than appeared. But I did not
step backward, nor give evidence in any way that I had even thought
of danger. I simply laid my hand on the picture and looked up at him
for orders.

He promptly signified that he wished it hung, adding as I hesitated
these words: "The pictures in this house are supposed to stay on the
walls where they belong. There is a traditional superstition against
removing them."

I immediately lifted the print from the floor. No doubt he had me
at a disadvantage, if evil was in his heart, and my position on the
hearth was as dangerous as previous events had proved it to be. But
it would not do to show the white feather at a moment when his fate,
if not my own, hung in the balance; so motioning him to step down,
I put foot on the chair and raised the picture aloft to hang it. As
I did so, he moved over to the huge settle of his ancestors, and,
crossing his arms over its back, surveyed me with a smile I rather
imagined than saw.

Suddenly, as I strained to put the cord over the nail he called out:

"Look out! you'll fall."

If he had intended to give me a start in payment for my previous
rebuff he did not succeed; for my nerves had grown steady and my arm
firm at the glimpse I had caught of the shelf below me. The fine
brown powder I had scattered there had been displaced in five distinct
spots, and not by my fingers. I had preferred to risk the loss of my
balance, rather than rest my hand on the shelf, but he had taken no
such precaution. The clue I so anxiously desired and for which I had
so recklessly worked, was obtained.

But when half an hour later I found an opportunity of measuring these
marks and comparing them with those upstairs, I did not enjoy the full
triumph I had promised myself. For the two impressions utterly failed
to coincide, thus proving that whoever the person was who had been in
this house with Mrs. Jeffrey on the evening she died, it was not her
uncle David.

VIII

SLYER WOES

Let me repeat. The person who had left the marks of his presence
in the upper chamber of the Moore house was not the man popularly
known as Uncle David. Who, then,