For a few moments he stood fuming and glaring with angry eyes and bent brows at nothing in particular, while debating with himself what his next step ought to be. Evidently the first thing to do was to ascertain why the Tower was shut up and what had become of Rigg and his daughter. After considering the matter for a little space, he said aloud: "Nixon will be pretty sure to know. I\'ll go and question him."

Like Rigg, Nixon was another pensioned dependent of the house of Clare, and together with his wife, much younger than himself, filled the post of lodge-keeper at the main entrance to Withington Chase.

Across the park tramped the Baronet, a very unusual thing for him to do. The old lodge-keeper was at home, and it did not take Sir Gilbert long to elicit all that Nixon had to tell. It appeared that Martin Rigg had gone down to Yorkshire to attend the funeral of his only brother, and that his daughter had accompanied him. As to when they might be expected back, Nixon knew nothing.

"Do you happen to know," said Sir Gilbert, "whether Rigg has had anyone staying with him at the Tower of late--a visitor of any kind, I mean?"

Nixon shook his head. "Not to my knowledge, Sir Gilbert."

"And you are sure you heard nothing about any stranger being there?"

"I\'m quite certain on that score, Sir Gilbert. And either Martin, or Dulcie would have been sure to speak of it if there had been."

As the Baronet walked back to the Chase he knew not what to think. So powerfully had his imagination been worked upon by the belief, which by this time had grown almost to a conviction, that his son was at the root of the mystery of the Grey Monk, and that, of all men, Rigg was the one to whom he must look to supply him with the key, that his mood was one of bitter disappointment.

After luncheon he told Lady Pell all about his morning\'s errand and its result.

In her own mind her ladyship had little or no faith in her kinsman\'s conviction that the Grey Monk was none other than John Alexander Clare, restored to life after some all but miraculous fashion when there was every reason for supposing him to have died twenty long years before. She was not a believer in the improbable, although, if questioned, she would have felt bound to admit that even she had known cases where incidents of the most startling kind had evolved themselves out of lives to all seeming the most commonplace and prosaic.

In the course of the day she took an opportunity of informing Sir Gilbert of the engagement of Ethel Thursby and Everard Lisle. That the news afforded him genuine pleasure could not be doubted. "So I shall not lose my little girl after all!" he said. "That is indeed something worth hearing. She has become very dear to me, Louisa; I may tell you so now; and I should have felt the loss of her more, perhaps, than the occasion would have seemed to warrant, for she has contrived to steal her way into my affections in a quite unaccountable fashion. My old age is the sweeter for her presence. I am very glad that I am not to lose her."

"I shall make it my business to furnish her trousseau."

"And you may rely upon it that she shall not go to her husband without a cadeau from me. I suppose she will have no dowry?"

"Not a shilling, so far as I am aware. She is an orphan and was brought up by two maiden aunts who, till a little while ago, were quite comfortably off. Now, however, they have only just enough left to live upon."

"In that case I must see what I can do by way of increasing Lisle\'s salary. Of course when anything happens to poor Kinaby, Lisle will at once step into his shoes. The furniture which is now at Maylings may as well be transferred to Elm Lodge for the young couple\'s use. They will make a well-matched pair, Louisa. As you know, I hold Lisle in very high regard, not merely because he happens to be the son of the man who saved my life, but by reason of his own fine qualities. How wide is the difference between him and young Rispani!"

Later in the day he took occasion to congratulate both the young folk, with the old-fashioned courtesy which became him so well, nor did he fail at dinner to drink to their health and happiness in a bumper of the rare old Madeira which was reserved for very special occasions. It was evident to everyone that the Baronet was in high good-humour, and that for the time at least he had succeeded in throwing off the gloom to which late events seemed to have hopelessly condemned him.

It was not till the second day after Sir Gilbert\'s visit to the Tower that Martin Rigg and his daughter got back home. Within an hour of his return he was summoned to proceed at once to the Chase, where Sir Gilbert received him in his study. Scarcely had he limped slowly into the room before Sir Gilbert, turning quickly upon him with bent brows and an assumption of his most minatory manner, said: "Rigg, how many days ago is it since you last saw my son, Mr. John Alexander Clare?"

That the keeper was utterly taken aback he himself would have been the first to admit. He turned hot and then cold almost as quickly as it takes to write the words. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and then back again, and so crushed his hard felt hat between his fingers that it was never fit to wear again. For a moment or two his gaze went up to a corner of the ceiling, only to be drawn irresistibly back to the stern face and deep-set eyes of the one man of whom he had ever stood in awe.

"When did I set eyes on Mr. Alec last, sir?" he stammered.

"You heard my question. I said, how many days is it--not years, mind you--since you saw my son last? Now, let me have no prevarication, Rigg. You know that is what I would never put up with either from you or anyone else. I have a right to know the truth in this matter, and I demand to know it. Speak, and dare to tell me a lie at your peril!"

"I have never been in the habit of telling lies, Sir Gilbert, either to you or anybody else," replied the keeper stiffly. "Since you force me to speak, I can\'t help myself, though I bound myself under a promise not to do so. Sir, I parted from Mr. Alec Clare five days ago, just before I left home to go and bury my brother."

A low cry broke from Sir Gilbert; his figure suddenly lost its rigidity and he sank back in his easy-chair, while his face blanched like that of a man at the point of death. Martin, terrified, made a step forward, but Sir Gilbert, tremblingly held up one hand. "Leave me alone," he murmured, "I shall be better presently." To those of his time of life the shock of sudden joy is oftentimes almost as trying as that of sudden grief.

"Sit down, Rigg," said the Baronet presently, mindful even at such a moment of the man\'s lameness. Then, as he lay back with closed eyes, little by li............