"Mr. and Mrs. Hilyer, your ludship!"  
And never in my life have I seen anything more splendid than the emotionless disapproval with which Watkins was able to invest his countenance as he announced our callers.
 
Hilyer was a lean, rangy chap, with a hatchet face and close-set eyes. His mustache was waxed in the Continental fashion, and he had slim, powerful hands, the hands of a born horseman and gambler. He looked what he was: good blood gone wrong.
 
His wife was a handsome, statuesque woman, awfully well turned out. She was absolutely in the mode, as perfect as a show-girl in a Gayety production. And she had cold eyes that saw everything, and never lost their icy glitter even when her manner was warmest.
 
"Hullo, Hugh!" exclaimed Hilyer. "Frightfully glad to see you home again, but rotten sorry for the occasion. You don't know Mrs. Hilyer, I believe."
 
Hugh bowed to her with cold precision.
 
"Thanks, Hilyer—" just a shade of emphasis on the family name—"it was kind of you to come. We are keeping bachelors' hall, Mrs. Hilyer, and I am afraid our entertaining resources are limited."
 
"Don't let that bother you," protested Mrs. Hilyer affably, "and if you and your friends want any lively diversion on the quiet, remember we keep liberty hall over at Little Depping. We wanted our—"
 
But I lost the thread of her conversation as I found myself staring into those same evil green eyes that I had seen peering out of the shadows of the Hilyer pew the morning of the funeral. The man they belonged to had entered the room immediately after the Hilyers. He would have challenged attention in any company with his amazing personality, the strange force that radiated from him. He had the long arms, short, thick legs and enormous body of a gorilla, capped by a beautifully-modeled head. His forehead was high; his clean-shaven face was very white; his jaw was square, without being prognathous. But his eyes were his outstanding feature. They were large and vividly green like a cat's.
 
The man baffled you. The expression of his face was dreamy, preoccupied. He had the appearance of a thinker, a recluse. But underneath his outward seeming I sensed another self, lurking as if in ambush. He was handsome in an intellectual way. Yet I found him repulsive.
 
Hilyer, undeterred by Hugh's frosty greeting, dropped his hand on this man's shoulder, and began introducing him. I noticed that the Englishman let his hand lie there only a minute, and then almost snatched it away.
 
"Signor Teodoreschi, gentlemen! The Italian chemist. And my other friends, Countess Sandra Yassilievna and Count Serge Vassilievich! I ought to explain they are brother and sister!"
 
This last with a well-bred leer.
 
"And Hilmi Bey, gentlemen! If you knew your Levant, you would recognize him without introduction."
 
I saw Nikka shift his attention at this from the two Russians to the Levantine, an olive-skinned individual, good-looking in a portly way, with a predatory beaked nose, effeminate eyes and a sensual mouth.
 
"You see we're rather an international crowd—what?" Mrs. Hilyer was drawling. "Matter of fact, Lord Chesby, we might muster another race or two."
 
"Very interesting, I'm sure," said Hugh, cold as ever. "You won't mind if I present my friends to you as a group? Thanks. This is Mr. Zaranko—and Mr. Nash."
 
"Not Mr. Nikka Zaranko?" exclaimed Mrs. Hilyer. "Oh, I say, it is a treat to meet you! How wonderfully you play!"
 
And she wrenched Nikka away from his obvious intent to probe the Levantine, and carried him off to a corner, along with Vassilievich, a slim-waisted, old-young man, with a hard, dissipated face. Hilmi, after a look around, joined the gorilla-like Italian, who was turning the pages of a review on the table, with occasional flashing glances about the room. Montey Hilyer was volubly describing the prospects of the racing season to Hugh, and I was left by process of elimination to entertain the Countess Sandra Yassilievna.
 
I think both Hugh and Nikka envied me the chance. She was a dark girl, with great, sleepy, almond-shaped eyes and a sinuous, willowy figure.
 
"You're an American, aren't you?" she said with a very slight accent. "How do you happen to know Lord Chesby?"
 
I explained to her.
 
"He went to New York to earn his living! Ah, that is an old story, Mr. Nash. Look at my brother and me! Exiles! Forced to turn our hands to whatever we can do. The Old World is a sad place these days."
 
I felt like telling her that I didn't believe it would hurt her sort to do a little work, but instead I asked her what she did do.
 
"Oh, anything," she replied evasively. "Secretarial work when I can get it. And you? What shall you and your friends do now? But I suppose you will help Lord Chesby enjoy the life of an English country gentleman."
 
"For a while, yes," I agreed.
 
"And then?"
 
"I don't know. America, I suppose. One must earn a living."
 
"So you would leave him—Lord Chesby, I mean?"
 
I began to have a disagreeable feeling that I was being pumped.
 
"I can't stay here forever, you know," I retorted.
 
"Ah, but of course! And Lord Chesby? Will he marry an heiress, an American, perhaps? But no! He does not need money, they say."
 
"'They say' a great many things," I commented.
 
"It may be he did ill to leave America," she suggested. "One is so safe there. In Europe, who can say what the future holds? Russia is chaos. Turkey torn by war. Eastern Europe boiling. Germany thirsting for vengeance. Ah? Mr. Nash, were I an American I should stay at home."
 
"That sounds almost like a threat," I laughed.
 
"God forbid!" she ejaculated with true Russian piety. "It is that I envy you your security. All Serge and I can do is to wait and plot and plot and wait."
 
"Are you staying in England?" I asked.
 
"Only temporarily. We shall be in Paris shortly. Perhaps you would care to call when you—"
 
"I haven't any present intention of going to Paris," I cut in.
 
"I can't believe you," she replied. "Don't all good Americans expect to go to Paris when they die? Perhaps you will travel elsewhere, no?"
 
I shrugged my shoulders.
 
"You Americans are so venturesome," she sighed. "One never really knew you as a people until the War."
 
I happened to look up at that moment, and surprised the Italian in one of his lightning surveys of the room.
 
"Your friend there seems exclusive," I remarked.
 
"Oh, he?" she said hastily. "He speaks no English, and he is sensitive about it. He talks little in any case. These scientists, you know."
 
Hilmi Bey left the Italian's side, and sauntered over to us.
 
"A beautiful old room," he said. "Has it any history?"
 
"It's the oldest part of the present building," I told him. "I understand it represents a reconstruction during Elizabeth's reign."
 
"Ah! Faultless taste, isn't?" He swung around on me. "They tell me you are an architect. You must appreciate such a good job."
 
The fellow spoke very pleasantly, and yet there was something about him that aroused in me a continual desire to punch his face.
 
"You can't beat the old people who worked slowly and lovingly," I answered, forcing myself to be civil.
 
"That is a gorgeous fireplace," said the Countess.
 
"Ah, yes," he agreed, with his absurdly broad pronunciation. "Rather a quaint verse there, too, I see. How does it run?"
 
He picked it out slowly, with some help from the Russian girl.
 
Whenne thatte ye Pappist Churchmanne
    Woulde seke Hys Soul's contente
He tookened up ye Wysshinge Stone
    And trode ye Prior's Vent.
 
 
"Deuced odd! What does it all mean?"
 
"I haven't the slightest idea," I said. "Nor has anybody else. It seems like a gratuitous slap at a certain religion, and as the author of the lines was noted for her religious bias, that is probably as good an explanation as any other."
 
Our conversation had attracted the attention of the others, and Mrs. Hilyer drew Nikka and the Count in front of the chimney-piece.
 
"You don't suppose there could be some secret meaning to those words, do you?" she asked.
 
"I wish you'd pick it out for me," I countered.
 
That was a query I had often put to myself.
 
"A key to something else, you know," she went on. "Our ancestors were fond of that sort of thing. They loved mystery, and life wasn't as safe in those days as it is in ours.'
 
"It's perfectly thrilling," cried the Countess. "This is just the kind of room to house some wonderful secret—or perhaps a tragedy."
 
"At any rate, her meaning is successfully concealed," I said. "Always supposing she had a meaning."
 
I felt something behind me, and turned my head. The Italian had left the table in the center of the room and moved up to the fringe of our group. His green eyes, flaring with an uncanny vital force, were intent upon the rhyme on the overmantel.
 
"Humph," I thought to myself, "you may not be able to speak English, but you appear to be able to read it."
 
He growled something in an undertone to Mrs. Hilyer, and she nodded.
 
"Fascinating as your room is, I am afraid we must leave you, Lord Chesby," she called over to Hugh. "Signor Teodoreschi had just reminded me we have to put him on the London train before we drive home."
 
"I'll have your motors called up," returned Hugh impassively, as he and Hilyer joined the rest of us.
 
He rang and gave the necessary orders to Watkins.
 
"You really must come over and have a bit of bridge with us," Mrs. Hilyer bowled along merrily. "Of course, I know you are in mourning, but even so, you ought not to deny yourself all pleasure. Any evening at all. Do make it soon. So glad to have met you, Mr. Zaranko. I can't tell you how sorry I am you won't play for us. Mr. Nash, I've hardly had a word with you, but we'll better that over at Little Depping, won't we?"
 
The Countess extended her hand to me.
 
"I hope you will accept Mrs. Hilyer's invitation," she said, her eyes glowing softly. "It's such a pleasure to meet Americans. I'd love to ride with you one day this week."
 
"I'll ring you up," I prevaricated, feeling very much like doing it, if the truth be known—she had a way with her, that girl.
 
"And don't forget that tip on Krugersdorp for the St. Leger," I heard Hilyer insist to Hugh. "I'm not so sure about the Derby. When you run over to see us, I'll let you have a look at a sweet little filly I'm grooming for steeplechase work. You aren't takin' on any hunters, are you? I've—"
 
"By the way," Hugh interrupted. "I meant to ask you: did any of your people see strangers around here the morning of my uncle's funeral?"
 
I was amazed at the sudden silence that gripped the room. The Italian, Teodoreschi, already in the doorway after a curt nod of farewell, stopped dead and stared hard at Hugh.
 
"You see," Hugh continued, "I heard one of your cars was seen on the London Road in back of the park, and if—"
 
"But, my dear fellow," exclaimed Hilyer, "what's the trouble? There are always strangers passing through Chesby. You've got two trunk highways, remember."
 
"Quite so," agreed Hugh. "But I'm anxious to know whether any strangers were seen that morning, especially strangers on foot."
 
"Not that we've heard of," responded Mrs. Hilyer promptly. "All of us were at the funeral. And if the servants had noticed anything queer, I'm sure they would have reported it to me."
 
"Thanks," said Hugh. "Would it be too much trouble for you to inquire of them, just the same?"
 
"Not at all. D'you mind telling us what happened?"
 
The whole company crowded closer.
 
"Oh, nothing much," answered Hugh deliberately, "except we had reason to suppose the house had been entered."
 
"Great Scott!" protested Hilyer. "That's a go. We've never had anything like that before in the County. But with so many men out of work, and the unrest and whatnot, I suppose it's no more than to be expected."
 
"Did you lose anything, Lord Chesby?" inquired Hilmi Bey.
 
"I think not."
 
The Countess Sandra Vassilievna permitted an artistic shudder to undulate her figure.
 
"Bozhe moi, Maude!" she cried. "Do you bring us into your rural England to risk death from burglars? I prefer the Bolshevists."
 
Several people laughed.
 
"All the same, it's no joke," answered Mrs. Hilyer. "Thanks for the warning, Lord Chesby. We'll let the dogs loose around the house after this at night."
 
Teodoreschi, still standing in the doorway, rasped a single sentence, and passed out. The others flocked after him like hounds over whom the huntsman cracks his whip. Mrs. Hilyer and the Countess waved a last good-by, and Watkins closed the door on them.
 
Nikka and I looked at one another, and burst out laughing. Hugh, with a muffled curse, threw up the nearest window.
 
"Let's have some fresh air," he said. "That scoundrel Montey Hilyer makes me feel dirty. He and his tips! And we must come over and play bridge! Yes, and roulette, too, I suppose, with a wired wheel. I say, you two, do I look like such an utter ass?"
 
"They were a queer crowd," I admitted. "That countess wasn't bad-looking, though."
 
"I noticed you stuck to her," insinuated Hugh.
 
"Nonsense, she singled me out. I think she was trying to pump me."
 
"Well, Hilyer didn't ask me any questions, I'm bound to say," returned Hugh. "He was too busy with his beastly gambling anecdotes, and crooked dope. What did you make out of them, Nikka?"'
 
Nikka lit a cigarette before he replied.
 
"I think they are a party of polite thieves," he answered at last. "At least, some of them. The Italian I made nothing of."
 
"He didn't talk any," said Hugh.
 
"They said he couldn't speak English," I put in.
 
"You didn't notice, then, that he was listening to everything that was said," observed Nikka.
 
"No, but I saw him read the rhyme up there over the fireplace. He gave me the shakes."
 
"Who was the Bey person?" inquired Hugh.
 
Nikka's lip curled.
 
"That fellaheen cur! I know the breed. They live by graft and worse. If we go to Paris I think I shall make inquiries about some of them. I know persons at the Prefecture of Police who ought to have their dossiers."
 
We fell silent, as Watkins, the company out of the way, brought in tea.
 
"How did they get on the subject of that verse of Lady Jane's?" demanded Hugh suddenly.
 
"It was the countess and Mrs. Hilyer," I explained. "They saw it, and insisted on reading some hidden meaning into it."
 
As I spoke I looked up again at the overmantel where the Gothic characters showed dimly in the light from the smoldering logs and the rays of the sunset. I conned over the four lines deliberately. "Ye Prior's Vent." The last three words seemed to jump out at me. "Some secret meaning.... A key to something else, you know." Mrs. Hilyer's phrases reëchoed in my brain. I studied the rhyme a second time.
 
"Hugh," I said suddenly, "d'you happen to have with you the copy of that other verse of Lady Jane's?"
 
He produced it from his pocketbook, without speaking. We had read over the copy of the Instructions a score of time since our arrival at Chesby, but none of us had recurred to Lady Jane's whimsical effort.
 
I spread the copy before me:
 
Putte downe ye Anciount riddel
    In Decente, Seemelie ordour.
Rouse, O ye mystick Sybil,
    Vex Hymme who doth Endeavour,
    Nor treate Hys effortte tendour.
 
 
And in the winking of an eyelid the cipher leaped out before me. I did not reason it out. It just came to me—when I saw the VE in the next to the last line, I think.
 
"I've got it!" I shouted, and I sprang up and danced across the hearth, waving the paper in my hand. "I've got it!"
 
Hugh and Nikka regarded me in astonishment.
 
"Got what, you silly ass?" asked Hugh.
 
"It—the secret! The key! The cipher! The treas—"
 
But even as I started to say that, I thought better of it.
 
"No, that's going too far," I panted, breaking off in my mad dance. "I've got something, but how much it means is another matter."
 
Hugh pulled me down beside them.
 
"Talk sense, Jack," he ordered. "Show us your—"
 
"Here!" I shoved the copy of Lady Jane's doggerel in front of him and Nikka. "Now watch!"
 
I took a pencil and drew it through all except the first letters of the first and last words in each line. So:
 
The result, of course, was:
 
P       r
I       o
R      S
V      E
N      t
 
 
"Prior's Vent!" gasped Nikka. "He has found something!"
 
And his eyes, too, sought the verse carved on the over-mantel.
 
"Up there, too! It can mean only one thing."
 
"That the secret to the location of the treasure is in the Prior's Vent!" I added triumphantly.
 
"Or can be reached through the Prior's Vent," amended Nikka.
 
Hugh, who had been in a brown study, aroused himself, and peered at the mass of the fireplace.
 
"I'm not trying to belittle Jack's discovery," he said slowly, "but you chaps must remember that we don't know where or what the Prior's Vent is."
 
"Except that you may take it for certain it is in this room," replied Nikka.
 
"And that perhaps the fireplace has something to do with it," I suggested.
 
Hugh shook his head.
 
"No, no, Jack, that won't wash. You, yourself, have measured that chimney area, and we all agreed there wasn't space inside it for a secret chamber. If I thought there was, I'd tear it down.'
 
"Hold on," counseled Nikka. "Easy does it. For the first time we've got something to go upon. Let's chew it over for a while, and see what we can make of it."
 
We chewed it over until bedtime without reaching any decision.