“Because there are rumours—­rumours of a mystery; and mysteries are always interesting and attractive,” was his answer.

“True,” she said meaningly.  “Just as rumours concerning certain of my father’s guests possess an unusual interest for him, Mr. Flockart.  Though my father may be blind, his hearing is still excellent.  And he is aware of much more than you think.”

The man glanced at her for an instant, and his face darkened.  The girl’s ominous words filled him with vague apprehension.  Was it possible that the blind man had any suspicion of what was intended?  He held his breath, and made another vicious cast far up the rippling stream.

CHAPTER IX

REVEALS A MYSTERIOUS BUSINESS

In the few days which followed, Lady Heyburn’s attitude towards Gabrielle became one of marked affection.  She even kissed her in the breakfast-room each morning, called her “dear,” and consulted her upon the day’s arrangements.

Poor Sir Henry was but a cipher in the household.  He usually took all his meals alone, except dinner, and was very seldom seen, save perhaps when he would come out for an hour or so to walk in the park, led by his daughter, or else, alone, tapping before him with his stout stick.  On such occasions he would wear a pair of big blue spectacles to hide the unsightliness of his gray, filmy eyes.  Sometimes he would sit on one of the garden seats on the south side of the house, enjoying the sunshine, and listening to the songs of the birds, the hum of the insects, and the soft ripples of the burn far below.  And on such occasions one of his wife’s guests would join him to chat and cheer him, for everyone felt pity for the lonely man living his life of darkness.

No one was more full of words of sympathy than James Flockart.  Gabrielle longed to warn her father of that man, but dared not do so.  There was a reason—­a strong reason—­for her silence.  Sir Henry had declared that he was interested in the man’s intellectual conversation, and that he rather liked him, though he had never looked upon his face.  In some things the old gentleman was ever ready to adopt his daughter’s advice and rely upon her judgment; but in others he was quite obstinate and treated her pointed remarks with calm indifference.

One day, at Lady Heyburn’s suggestion, Gabrielle, accompanied by Flockart and another of the guests, a retired colonel, had driven over in the big car to Perth to make a call; and on their return she spent some hours in the library with her father, attending to his correspondence.

That morning a big packet of those typed reports in French had arrived in the usual registered, orange-coloured envelope, and after she had read them over to the Baronet, he had given her the key, and she had got out the code-book.  Then, at his instructions, she had written upon a yellow telegraph-form a cipher message addressed to the mysterious “Meteforos, Paris.”  It read, when decoded:—­