“Yes; I remember he arrived quite early,” Edith Morriston murmured.

“Clement Henshaw,” Gifford proceeded, “left the hotel about the same time.  They must have reached your house within a few minutes of one another.”

As he paused, his companion looked round at him inquiringly.  “Yes,” she said, with a certain suggestion of reticence; “I remember that too.”

Gifford continued.  “Having seen Kelson off, I went up to our sitting-room to wait till my kit should arrive.  I was very keen on seeing again the old place where in my young days I used to spend such happy months, and my enforced waiting soon became almost intolerable boredom.  The result was that I got a fit of the fidgets; I could not settle down to read, and at last, having still an hour to spare, I resolved in my restlessness to stroll out and take a preliminary look from outside at what was practically my old home.”

“Yes.”  There was a catch of growing excitement in Edith Morriston’s voice, which was scarcely above a whisper.

“The wind was sharp that night, as we all know,” Gifford went on, “and forbade loitering.  A smart walk of fifteen or twenty minutes brought me here, knowing as I did every path and short cut across the park.  The old familiar house looked picturesque enough with its many lighted windows and every sign of gaiety.  Keeping away from the front entrance where carriages were constantly driving up and a good many people were about, I went round to the other side, avoiding the stables and passing along by the west wing.  This, of course, brought me to the old tower, the scene of many a game and frolic in my young days.  At its foot I stood for a while recalling memories of the past.  In the mere idleness of affectionate remembrance I went up to the garden door of the tower and mechanically turned the handle.  It was unlocked.

“I hardly know what made me go in; an impulse to stand again in those once familiar surroundings.  It was fascinating to be in the old tower which the dim light showed me was just as I had last seen it more than a dozen years ago.  The past came vividly back to me, and I stood there for a while indulging in a reverie of old days.  The associations of the place seemed every moment to grip me more compellingly.  The tower seemed quiet and altogether deserted; all I could hear was the dance-music away in the hall.  There could be no risk, I thought, of being seen if I went up to the floor above:  and I quietly ascended the stairs to the first landing.  The narrow passage leading to the hall was lighted up with sconces; at its farther end I could see the movement of the dancers.  The band was playing a favourite waltz of mine, and I stayed there rather enjoying the music and the sight from my safe retreat.

“It did not seem likely that any one would be coming to the tower, and I resolved, foolishly enough, for, of course, I was in my travelling suit, to wander up to the next floor and take a look at the room which held a rather sentimental association for me.  It was a stupid thing to do as I was there in, for the moment, a rather questionable situation, still I felt pretty secure from being noticed, and went up warily to the next floor.