Here, in fact, in this old monastic establishment, would seem to reside the very genius of that spirit of desolation which had touched me unpleasantly in the hour of my arrival in Crossleys.  I determined to ascertain by inquiries amongst the local tradespeople, none of whom I had hitherto met, by what means the fact that no one resided at Friar’s Park was concealed from those whose ordinary business activities would demand their presenting themselves at the house for orders, etc.  But even as the plan suggested itself to me, I thought I perceived an answer to my question; in all probability, I determined, Dr. Damar Greefe or the Hawkins’s, who were palpably his creatures, acted as a barrier between the tradespeople and the missing lady of the Park.

But what it could all portend was a problem beyond the power of my imagination or deductive reasoning.  If Lady Coverly had changed her residence for some reason, with what object did the Eurasian continue to lead every one in the neighborhood to suppose that she still resided at Friar’s Park?

It was all a hopeless tangle, and the more I thought about it the more discouraged did I become.  I seemed to get further, too, from that link for which I sought—­the link connecting the mystery with that other which I always associated with the Red House.  The luminous eyes afforded the visible link; this I could not doubt.  But what relation to the death of Sir Marcus did the disappearance of Lady Burnham Coverly bear?  Secondly, what was Dr. Damar Greefe’s place in the scheme?  And thirdly (the most appalling mystery of all) who or what was the woman with the cat’s eyes?

At this point in my meditations I discovered that I had arrived before the Abbey Inn, now plunged in darkness, and believing that I detected the sound of footsteps behind me I became eventually the victim of a sort of panic which perhaps will be forgiven me under the circumstances.  For emerging from these unpleasant reflections and hearing or believing that I heard sounds of pursuit from the lonely moon-patched road behind, I know that I hurried forward to the side door and silently prayed that I should find it unfastened as Martin had assured me that it would be.

In this particular I was speedily reassured, for the door opened to my touch—­and I became conscious of a wish that there might be some means of fastening it from within.  However, I could find none, but hurrying upstairs, I determined to take a precaution which hitherto I had not adopted and that night to lock my bedroom door.

Entering the room, I fumbled for a box of matches in my pocket and presently discovering them struck one and looked about me for the candle which usually stood upon a little cabinet beside the bed.  To-night, however, it had been moved for some reason, and put over by the window on the dressing-table.  As I made this discovery the match smoldered out, and at the moment I was about to strike another the sound of footsteps which I had formerly detected grew louder and nearer, so that I could no longer doubt that some one was running along the road towards the Abbey Inn.