He paused, staring at me oddly; and the familiar expression beneath the unfamiliar disguise was very curious.  Then: 

“About seven or eight years ago,” he resumed, “shortly after his return from Egypt, according to Mr. Hardacre, the solicitor, something occurred which made a changed man of his client, Sir Burnham.  You will note, Mr. Addison, shortly after his return from Egypt.  He realized upon quantities of securities, and raised a big sum of ready money, which he disposed of in some way which has always remained a mystery to Mr. Hardacre.  In short, within a period of three years or less, from being a wealthy man, he became a poor one.

“Next, he sent Mr. Roger Coverly, his only child, then a mere lad, abroad in care of a tutor; Mr. Hardacre never knew for what reason as there was apparently nothing wrong with the boy’s health!  He began to dismiss his servants.  The greater part of Friar’s Park was shut up and allowed to fall into decay.  Finally, to Mr. Hardacre’s surprise and grief, Sir Burnham mortgaged the property.  But it was the terms of the mortgage—­which I was privileged to inspect—­which aroused my curiosity.

“In brief, the mortgagee agreed, in the event of Sir Burnham’s death, to allow the widow to retain possession of the property for life, whether payments fell in arrears or otherwise!”

“But this—­” I exclaimed.

“Is, as a friend of yours once remarked, as mad as ’Alice in Wonderland’!  I agree.  But to continue.  At the time that this extraordinary agreement was drawn up, Mr. Hardacre went down to Friar’s Park, of course; and he was a witness of several most singular and significant occurrences.  For instance, on the evening of his arrival, whilst he was dressing for dinner, Sir Burnham came running to his room and begged of him to lock his door and to remain in his room until his host gave him permission to come out!  He was particularly warned against admitting any one who might knock in the interval!”

“Good heavens!” I cried—­“and did any one knock?”

“No one; but about half an hour later Sir Burnham came and released him.  Mr. Hardacre was unspeakably distressed to observe that Sir Burnham looked white and ill; in fact, in Mr. Hardacre’s own words, five years older!  Again, quite by accident, on the same night, he came upon his host kneeling in the chapel—­in those days it still boasted a roof—­deep in prayer.  An atmosphere of indescribable horror, he declared, had settled upon Friar’s Park, and although, as he confessed, he had no evidence to prove the correctness of his theory, he nevertheless traced this to the person of the mortgagee.  For it seemed to correspond roughly with the appearance in the neighborhood of this man—­whom he now met for the first time.”

Again Gatton paused, taking out his pipe and pouch, and: 

“Who was this person?” I asked.

“A certain Dr. Damar Greefe!”