From the window a cool breath of the night-wind came in, fanning the curtains and carrying with it the sweet scent of the flowers without.

“How refreshing!” exclaimed the old man, drawing in a deep breath.  “The night is very close, Gabrielle, dear.  I fear we shall have thunder.”

“There was lightning only a moment ago,” explained the girl.  “Shall I put the casts into your collection, dad?”

“Yes, dear.  Moyes no doubt intends that I should keep them.”

Gabrielle rose, and, passing across to a large cabinet with many shallow drawers, she opened one, displaying a tray full of casts of seals, each neatly arranged, with its inscription and translation placed beneath, all in her own clear handwriting.

Some of the drawers contained the matrices as well as the casts; but as matrices of mediaeval seals are rarities, and seldom found anywhere save in the chief public museums, it is no wonder that the bulk of private collections consist of impressions.

Presently, at the Baronet’s suggestion, she closed and locked the cabinet, and then took up a bundle of business documents, which she commenced to sort out and arrange.

She acted as her father’s private secretary, and therefore knew much of his affairs.  But many things were to her a complete mystery, be it said.  Though devoted to her father, she nevertheless sometimes became filled with a vague suspicion that the source of his great income was not altogether an open and honest one.  The papers and letters she read to him often contained veiled information which sorely puzzled her, and which caused her many hours of wonder and reflection.  Her father lived alone, with only her as companion.  Her stepmother, a young, good-looking, and giddy woman, never dreamed the truth.

What would she do, how would she act, Gabrielle wondered, if ever she gained sight of some of those private papers kept locked in the cavity beyond the black steel door concealed by the false bookcase at the farther end of the fine old restful room?

The papers she handled had been taken from the safe by Sir Henry himself.  And they contained a man’s secret.

CHAPTER IV

SOMETHING CONCERNING JAMES FLOCKART

In the spreading dawn the house party had returned from Connachan and had ascended to their rooms, weary with the night’s revelry, the men with shirt-fronts crumpled and ties awry, the women with hair disordered, and in some cases with flimsy skirts torn in the mazes of the dance.  Yet all were merry and full of satisfaction at what one young man from town had declared to be “an awfully ripping evening.”  All retired at once—­all save the hostess and one of her male guests, the man who had entered the library by stealth earlier in the evening and had called Gabrielle outside.

Lady Heyburn and her visitor, James Flockart, had managed to slip away from the others, and now stood together in the library, into which the grey light of dawn was at that moment slowly creeping.