Signor Mannetti preserved silence for a time, then he returned in very surprising fashion to the subject that had brought him to Chadlands.  He had been reflecting and now proceeded with his thoughts aloud.

“You must, however, restrain your natural impatience a little longer, until another night has passed.  I will, if you please, myself spend some hours in the Grey Room after dark, and learn what the medieval spirits have to tell me.  Shall I see the wraith of Prince Djem, think you?  Or the ghost of Pinturicchio hovering round his little picture?  Or those bygone, cunning workers in plaster who built the ceiling?  They will at least talk the language of Tuscany, and I shall be at home among them.”

Sir Walter protested.

“That, indeed, is the last thing I could permit, signor,” he said.

“That is the first thing that must happen, nevertheless,” replied the old gentleman calmly.  “You need not fear for me, Sir Walter.  I jest about the spirits.  There are no spirits in the Grey Room, or, if there are, they are not such as can quarrel with you, or me.  There is, however, something much worse than any spirit lurking in the heart of your house—­a potent, sleepless, fiendish thing; and far from wondering at all that has happened, I only marvel that worse did not befall.  But I have the magic talisman, the ‘open sesame.’  I am safe enough even if I am mistaken.  Though my fires are burning low, it will take more than your Grey Room to extinguish them.  I hold the clue of the labyrinth, and shall pass safely in and out again.  To-morrow I can tell you if I am right.”

“I confess that any such plan is most disagreeable to me.  I have been specially directed by the authorities to allow no man to make further experiments alone.”

Vergilio Mannetti showed a trace of testiness.  “Forgive me, but your mind moves without its usual agility, my friend.  Have I not told you everything?  What matters Scotland Yard, seeing that it is entirely in the dark, while I have the light?  Let them hear that they are bats and owls, and that one old man has outwitted the pack of them!”

“You have, as you say, told us much, my dear signor, and much that you have said is deeply interesting.  In your mind it may be that these various facts are related, and bring you to some sort of conclusion bearing on the Grey Room; but for us it is not so.  These statements leave us where they find us; they hang on nothing, not even upon one another in our ears.  I speak plainly, since this is a matter for plain speaking.  It is natural that you should not feel as we feel; but I need not remind you that what to you is merely an extraordinary mystery, to us is much more.  You have imagination, however, far more than I have, and can guess, without being told, the awful suffering the past has brought to my daughter and myself.”

“Our slow English brains cannot flash our thoughts along so quickly as yours, signor,” said Mary.  “It is stupid of us, but—­”