“If it didn’t seem impossible,” he told Henry, “I could almost imagine that Signor Mannetti was trying to pull my leg sometimes.”

“He tries, and succeeds,” answered young Lennox.  “He is built that way.  His mind is as agile as a monkey, despite his age.  He’s a sly old bird; his thoughts move a thousand times faster than ours, and they’re a thousand times more subtle.”

“But he’s very fascinating,” declared Mary.

“He’s a gentleman,” answered Henry—­“an Italian gentleman.  They’re different from us in their ideas of good form, that’s all.  Good form is largely a matter of geography—­like most other manners and customs.”

“I believe in him, anyway.”

“So do I, Mary.  I don’t think he would ever have put himself to such extraordinary trouble if he hadn’t felt pretty hopeful.”

But Sir Walter doubted.

“He’s old and his mind plays him tricks sometimes.  No doubt he’s immensely clever; but his cleverness belongs to the past.  He has not moved with the times any more than I have.”

“His eye flashes still, and you know he has claws, but, like a dear old Persian cat, he would never dream of using them.”

“I think he would,” answered her cousin.  “He might spring on anybody—­from behind.”

“He is, at any rate, too old to understand democracy.”

“He understands it only too well,” replied Sir Walter.  “Like myself, he knows that democracy is only autocracy turned inside out.  Human nature isn’t constructed to bear any such ideal.  It might suit sheep and oxen—­not men.”

“He is an aristocrat, a survival, proud as a peacock under his humility, as kind-hearted as you are yourself, father.”

“I rather doubt his kindness of heart,” said Henry.  “Latins are not kind.  But I don’t doubt his cleverness.  One must be on one’s guard against first impressions, Mary.”

“No, no one mustn’t, when they’re so pleasant.  There is nothing small or peddling about him.  It was angelic of such an old man to take so much trouble.”

Henry Lennox reminded them of practical considerations.

“The first thing is to get the room opened for him.  He is going to see Uncle Walter at eleven o’clock, and he’ll want to visit the Grey Room afterwards.  If we get Chubb and a man or two from the village the first thing in the morning, they can help Caunter to open the room and have it ready for him after lunch.”

Sir Walter rang and directed that workmen should be sent for at the earliest hour next day.

“I feel doubtful as to what the authorities would say, however,” he told Henry, when his orders had been taken.

“What can they say, but be well pleased if the infernal thing is cleared up?”

“It is too good to be true.”

“So I should think, but I share Mary’s optimism.  I honestly believe that Signor Mannetti knows a great deal more about the Grey Room than he has let us imagine.”