The building was a circular one, rising to a height of some thirty-five feet and having a diameter of about ten.  Up to about twelve feet from the floor its walls were draped with red and purple stuffs of coarse material; above them the bare bricks and the rafters of the roof showed naked.  In the middle of the floor, with their backs to the door at which Mary and her companion stood, were set two small armchairs of plain and cheap make.  Facing them, on a rough dais about three feet high and with two steps leading up to it, stood a large and deep carved oaken armchair.  It too was upholstered in purple, and above and around it were a canopy and curtains of the same color.  This strange erection was set with its back to the one window—­that which Mr. Saffron had caused to be boarded up soon after he entered into occupation.  The place was lighted by candles—­two tall standards of an ecclesiastical pattern, one on either side of the great chair or throne, and each holding six large candles, all of which were now alight and about half-consumed.  On the throne, his spare wasted figure set far back in the recesses of its deep cushioned seat and his feet resting on a high hassock, sat old Mr. Saffron; in his right hand he grasped a scepter, obviously a theatrical “property,” but a handsome one, of black wood with gilt ornamentation; his left arm he held close against his side.  His eyes were turned up towards the room; his lips were moving as though he were talking, but no sound came.

Such was Doctor Mary’s first impression of the scene; but the next moment she took in another feature of it, not less remarkable.  To the left of the throne, to her right as she stood in the doorway facing it, there was a fireplace; an empty grate, though the night was cold.  Immediately in front of it was, unmistakably, the excavation in the floor which Mr. Penrose had described at the Christmas dinner-party at Old Place—­six feet in length by three in breadth, and about four feet deep.  Against the wall, close by, stood a sheet of cast iron, which evidently served to cover and conceal the aperture; by it was thrown down, in careless disorder, a strip of the same dull red baize as covered the rest of the floor of the Tower.  By the side of the sheet and the piece of carpet there was an old brown leather bag.

Tradition, and Mr. Penrose, had told the truth.  Here without doubt was Captain Duggle’s grave, the grave he had caused to be dug for himself, but which—­be the reason what it might—–­his body had never occupied.  Yet the tomb was not entirely empty.  The floor of it was strewn with gold, to what depth Mary could not tell, but it was covered with golden sovereigns; there must be thousands of them.  They gleamed under the light of the candles.

Mary turned, startled, inquiring, apprehensive eyes on Beaumaroy.  He pressed her arm gently, and whispered: 

“I’ll tell you presently.  Come in.  He’ll notice us, I expect, in a minute.  Mind you curtsey when he sees you!” He led her in, pulling the door to after him, and placed her and himself in front of the two small armchairs opposite Mr. Saffron’s throne.