Lord Lashmore was a big, blonde man, fresh coloured, and having his nearly white hair worn close cut and his moustache trimmed in the neat military fashion. For a fair man, he had eyes of a singular colour. They were of so dark a shade of brown as to appear black: southern eyes; lending to his personality an oddness very striking.  
When he was shown into Dr. Cairn's library, the doctor regarded him with that searching scrutiny peculiar to men of his profession, at the same time inviting the visitor to be seated.
 
Lashmore sat down in the red leathern armchair, resting his large hands upon his knees, with the fingers widely spread. He had a massive dignity, but was not entirely at his ease.
 
Dr. Cairn opened the conversation, in his direct fashion.
 
"You come to consult me, Lord Lashmore, in my capacity of occultist rather than in that of physician?"
 
"In both," replied Lord Lashmore; "distinctly, in both."
 
"Sir Elwin Groves is attending you for certain throat wounds—"
 
Lord Lashmore touched the high stock which he was wearing.
 
"The scars remain," he said. "Do you wish to see them?"
 
"I am afraid I must trouble you."
 
The stock was untied; and Dr. Cairn, through a powerful glass, examined the marks. One of them, the lower, was slightly inflamed.
 
Lord Lashmore retied his stock, standing before the small mirror set in the overmantel.
[55]
 
"You had an impression of some presence in the room at the time of the outrage?" pursued the doctor.
 
"Distinctly; on both occasions."
 
"Did you see anything?"
 
"The room was too dark."
 
"But you felt something?"
 
"Hair; my knuckles, as I struck out—I am speaking of the second outrage—encountered a thick mass of hair."
 
"The body of some animal?"
 
"Probably the head."
 
"But still you saw nothing?"
 
"I must confess that I had a vague idea of some shape flitting away across the room; a white shape—therefore probably a figment of my imagination."
 
"Your cry awakened Lady Lashmore?"
 
"Unfortunately, yes. Her nerves were badly shaken already, and this second shock proved too severe. Sir Elwin fears chest trouble. I am taking her abroad as soon as possible."
 
"She was found insensible. Where?"
 
"At the door of the dressing-room—the door communicating with her own room, not that communicating with mine. She had evidently started to come to my assistance when faintness overcame her."
 
"What is her own account?"
 
"That is her own account."
 
"Who discovered her?"
 
"I did."
 
Dr. Cairn was drumming his fingers on the table.
 
"You have a theory, Lord Lashmore," he said suddenly. "Let me hear it."
 
Lord Lashmore started, and glared across at the speaker with a sort of haughty surprise.
 
"I have a theory?"
 
"I think so. Am I wrong?"
 
Lashmore stood on the rug before the fireplace, with his hands locked behind him and his head lowered, looking out under his tufted eyebrows at Dr. Cairn. Thus seen, Lord Lashmore's strange eyes had a sinister appearance.
[56]
 
"If I had had a theory—" he began.
 
"You would have come to me to seek confirmation?" suggested Dr. Cairn.
 
"Ah! yes, you may be right. Sir Elwin Groves, to whom I hinted something, mentioned your name. I am not quite clear upon one point, Dr. Cairn. Did he send me to you because he thought—in a word, are you a mental specialist?"
 
"I am not. Sir Elwin has no doubts respecting your brain, Lord Lashmore. He has sent you here because I have made some study of what I may term psychical ailments. There is a chapter in your family history"—he fixed his searching gaze upon the other's face—"which latterly has been occupying your mind?"
 
At that, Lashmore started in good earnest.
 
"To what do you refer?"
 
"Lord Lashmore, you have come to me for advice. A rare ailment—happily very rare in England—has assailed you. Circumstances have been in your favour thus far, but a recurrence is to be anticipated at any time. Be good enough to look upon me as a specialist, and give me all your confidence."
 
Lashmore cleared his throat.
 
"What do you wish to know, Dr. Cairn?" he asked, with a queer intermingling of respect and hauteur in his tones.
 
"I wish to know about Mirza, wife of the third Baron Lashmore."
 
Lord Lashmore took a stride forward. His large hands clenched, and his eyes were blazing.
 
"What do you know about her?"
 
Surprise was in his voice, and anger.
 
"I have seen her portrait in Dhoon Castle; you were not in residence at the time. Mirza, Lady Lashmore, was evidently a very beautiful woman. What was the date of the marriage?"
 
"1615."
 
"The third Baron brought her to England from?—"
 
"Poland."
 
"She was a Pole?"
 
"A Polish Jewess."
[57]
 
"There was no issue of the marriage, but the Baron outlived her and married again?"
 
Lord Lashmore shifted his feet nervously, and gnawed his finger-nails.
 
"There was issue of the marriage," he snapped. "She was—my ancestress."
 
"Ah!" Dr. Cairn's grey eyes lighted up momentarily. "We get to the facts! Why was this birth kept secret?"
 
"Dhoon Castle has kept many secrets!" It was a grim noble of the Middle Ages who was speaking. "For a Lashmore, there was no difficulty in suppressing the facts, arranging a hasty second marriage and representing the boy as the child of the later union. Had the second marriage proved fruitful, this had been unnecessary; but an heir to Dhoon was—essential."
 
"I see. Had the second marriage proved fruitful, the child of Mirza would have been—what shall we say?—smothered?"
 
"Damn it! What do you mean?"
 
"He was the rightful heir."
 
"Dr. Cairn," said Lashmore slowly, "you are probing an open wound. The fourth Baron Lashmore represents............