Then Dr. Chillingworth sat down to think.  Much he wondered what could be the secret of the great desire which Varney, Marchdale, and even this man had, all of them to be possessors of the old Hall.

That there was some powerful incentive he felt convinced, and he longed for some conversation with the Bannerworths, or with Admiral Bell, in order that he might state what had now taken place.  That some one would soon come to him, in order to bring fresh provisions for the day, he was certain, and all he could do, in the interim, was, to listen to what the hangman was about in the Hall.

Not a sound, for a considerable time, disturbed the intense stillness of the place; but, now, suddenly, Mr. Chillingworth thought he heard a hammering, as if some one was at work in one of the rooms of the Hall.

“What can be the meaning of that?” he said, and he was about to proceed at once to the interior of the building, through the same window which had enabled the hangman to gain admittance, when he heard his own name pronounced by some one at the back of the garden fence, and upon casting his eyes in that direction, he, to his great relief, saw the admiral and Henry Bannerworth.

“Come round to the gate,” said the doctor.  “I am more glad to see you than I can tell you just now.  Do not make more noise than you can help; but, come round to the gate at once.”

They obeyed the injunction with alacrity, and when the doctor had admitted them, the admiral said, eagerly,—­

“You don’t mean to tell us that he is here?”

“No, no, not Varney; but he is not the only one who has taken a great affection for Bannerworth Hall; you may have another tenant for it, and I believe at any price you like to name.”

“Indeed!”

“Hush! creep along close to the house, and then you will not be seen.  There! do you hear that noise in the hall?”

“Why it sounds,” said the admiral, “like the ship’s carpenter at work.”

“It does, indeed, sound like a carpenter; it’s only the new tenant making, I dare say, some repairs.”

“D—­n his impudence!”

“Why, it certainly does look like a very cool proceeding, I must admit.”

“Who, and what is he?”

“Who he is now, I cannot tell you, but he was once the hangman of London, at a time when I was practising in the metropolis, and so I became acquainted with him.  He knows Sir Francis Varney, and, if I mistake not, has found out the cause of that mysterious personage’s great attachment to Bannerworth Hall, and has found the reasons so cogent, that he has got up an affection for it himself.”

“To me,” said Henry, “all this is as incomprehensible as anything can possibly be.  What on earth does it all mean?”

“My dear Henry,” said the doctor, “will you be ruled by me?”

“I will be ruled by any one whom I know I can trust; for I am like a man groping his way in the dark.”