"It's no good going in now," said Gatton, in a weary voice; "in fact it might be dangerous. We have to consider the possibility of fire, however," he added.
 
Voices of sleepers awakened and cries of inquiry sounded now from all over the inn; for naturally the household had been aroused by the tremendous noise of the explosion. For my own part I was altogether too dazed to conjecture what had happened. But that Gatton had saved me from some deadly peril I was well convinced. Stirrings and the noise of footsteps came from an adjoining room, and presently in his night attire Martin appeared, very bemused.
 
"Mr. Addison," he began, and stared from me to my companion.
 
"Let no one leave their rooms," said Gatton decisively, "until I give them permission."
 
"Eh," began Martin heavily.
 
"I am a police officer," added Gatton; "and you will all do as I direct. Does any one sleep on the same floor as Mr. Addison?"
 
"No, sir," replied Martin, who was not yet more than half awake, but who nevertheless had been impressed by the Inspector's authoritative manner.
 
Sounds of footsteps from the floor above now became audible, whereupon:
 
"Order every one to remain in their rooms!" repeated Gatton.
 
Martin, raising his voice, obeyed him.
 
"What are your arrangements in the case of fire?" continued the Inspector.
 
Several betousled heads were peeping down from the landing above but no one spoke until Martin collected his ideas sufficiently to reply:
 
"There's buckets in the stables—and there's the well. Wilkins sleeps over the stables—"
 
"Can you make him hear without going downstairs?"
 
"I can try," was the answer.
 
Martin walked to a window which lighted the landing, and threw it widely open. Leaning out:
 
"Wilkins!" he roared—"Wilkins!"
 
"Aye, aye, boss!" came faintly from somewhere below.
 
"Tell him to stand by with fire-buckets, but not to leave the yard without orders from me," directed Gatton.
 
Martin issued these instructions in a voice which must have been audible at Leeways, and then stood scratching his head stupidly.
 
But indeed of all the bewildered company who gathered that night beneath the roof of the Abbey Inn, I think I was the most nonplused of all, and turning to Gatton:
 
"For God's sake tell me what it all means!" I said.
 
"It means," he answered, and even through his disguise I recognized the old grim smile, "that only a match stood between you and eternity! Even now, we cannot afford to sit down, but I am not anxious to pass your door for a few minutes. As we both have much to say, let us find a room where we can talk."
 
Accordingly we went up to a large empty room at the back of the inn. Through the open doorway I could hear the excited voices of the entire staff of the establishment, who had congregated in Martin's room across the landing. Never in the history of the Abbey Inn had such doings taken place.
 
"Perhaps," continued Gatton, "it will save time if you tell me exactly what you have done first."
 
"Very well," I said; "but before I begin—when did you arrive?"
 
"An hour and a half after receiving your code telegram! I came by car. The car is at Manton now."
 
"Why this disguise?"
 
"I will explain in a moment. But meanwhile—your own story."
 
At that, although consumed with impatience, I quickly outlined my movements from the time of my arrival at Upper Crossleys, the Inspector following me closely. The tale concluded:
 
"Now, Gatton!" I cried—"for heaven's sake tell me what it all means!"
 
"I will tell you all I know," he replied slowly, "In the first place I had two reasons for suggesting the visit to Friar's Park. I had formed an opinion that the 'cat-woman' was interested in you. Whether because she regarded you as dangerous or from some other cause I could not determine. And I thought of a plan for finding out if she was by any chance associated with Friar's Park. It was to send you down here (a) to make straightforward inquiries, and (b) to 'draw the cat'!"
 
"Very good of you!" I murmured.
 
"I warned you it was dangerous!" said Gatton grimly. "But I am pleased to say the plan worked to perfection. Your own inquiries have been highly satisfactory and you have also 'drawn the cat'! Now just to show you how dramatic your discoveries really were I will explain my second and more important reason and the one which primarily had prompted me to turn my attention to Friar's Park. A few hours before you came to the Yard the other morning—to see the bag dropped in the water by Eric Coverly—I had been in touch with the solicitors who had acted for the late Sir Burnham."
 
"Ah!" I exclaimed—"what had they to say?"
 
"I was seeking information of course respecting the entail; in short, trying to fathom the mystery of what Eric Coverly would have had to gain by getting his cousin out of the way. I learned that financially he gained nothing but a bundle of debts. Friar's Park was mortgaged to the hilt. Furthermore, Lady Burnham Coverly had a life interest in the property under the will of her husband.
 
"Next, from the senior partner, a solicitor of the old school who still retained pleasant memories of Sir Burnham's port, I learned a number of very significant details."
 
He paused, staring at me oddly; and the familiar expression beneath the unfamiliar disguise was very curious. Then:
 
"About seven or eight years ago," he resumed, "shortly after his return from Egypt, according to Mr. Hardacre, the solicitor, something occurred which made a changed man of his client, Sir Burnham. You will note, Mr. Addison, shortly after his return from Egypt. He realized upon quantities of securities, and raised a big sum of ready money, which he disposed of in some way which has always remained a mystery to Mr. Hardacre. In short, within a period of three years or less, from being a wealthy man, he became a poor one.
 
"Next, he sent Mr. Roger Coverly, his only child, then a mere lad, abroad in care of a tutor; Mr. Hardacre never knew for what reason as there was apparently nothing wrong with the boy's health! He began to dismiss his servants. The greater part of Friar's Park was shut up and allowed to fall into decay. Finally, to Mr. Hardacre's surprise and grief, Sir Burnham mortgaged the property. But it was the terms of the mortgage—which I was privileged to inspect—which aroused my curiosity.
 
"In brief, the mortgagee agreed, in the event of Sir Burnham's death, to allow the widow to retain possession of the property for life, whether payments fell in arrears or otherwise!"
 
"But this—" I exclaimed.
 
"Is, as a friend of yours once remarked, as mad as 'Alice in Wonderland'! I agree. But to continue. At the time that this extraordinary agreement was drawn up, Mr. Hardacre went down to Friar's Park, of course; and he was a witness of several most singular and significant occurrences. For instance, on the evening of his arrival, whilst he was dressing for dinner, Sir Burnham came running to his room and begged of him to lock his door and to remain in his room until his host gave him permission to come out! He was particularly warned against admitting any one who might knock in the interval!"
 
"Good heavens!" I cried—"and did any one knock?"
 
"No one; but about half an hour later Sir Burnham came and released him. Mr. Hardacre was unspeakably distressed to observe that Sir Burnham looked white and ill; in fact, in Mr. Hardacre's own words, five years older! Again, quite by accident, on the same night, he came upon his host kneeling in the chapel—in those days it still boasted a roof—deep in prayer. An atmosphere of indescribable horror, he declared, had settled upon Friar's Park, and although, as he confessed, he had no evidence to prove the correctness of his theory, he nevertheless traced this to the person of the mortgagee. For it seemed to correspond roughly with the appearance in the neighborhood of this man—whom he now met for the first time."
 
Again Gatton paused, taking out his pipe and pouch, and:
 
"Who was this person?" I asked.
 
"A certain Dr. Damar Greefe!"
 
"Good God!" I cried—"where is all this leading us, Gatton?"
 
"It is leading us slowly to the truth, Mr. Addison, and that truth, when we come to it, is going to be more horrible than we even suspect. Passing over much of Mr. Hardacre's evidence, I come to the death, in Switzerland, of Mr. Roger Coverly, under circumstances so obscure that I fear we shall never know the particulars. Of one thing, however, I am assured: there was foul play."
 
"You mean that Roger Coverly was—murdered?"
 
"I really don't doubt it," replied Gatton, who, having filled his pipe, now lighted it. "I believe he was the first victim."
 
"The first victim?"
 
"Mr. Addison, I agree with the late Sir Burnham's solicitor, that the spider at the heart of this web is Dr. Damar Greefe. The shock of his son's premature death led to a collapse from which Sir Burnham never recovered, and Friar's P............