“I stand corrected,” answered the other instantly.  He rose from his seat, and bowed to them with his hand on his heart.

“I am a withered old fool, and not quick at all.  Forgive me.  But thus it stands.  Since you did not guess, through pardonable ignorance of a certain fact, then, for the pleasure of absolute proof, I withhold my discovery a little longer.  There is drama here, but we must be skilled dramatists and not spoil our climax, or anticipate it.  To-morrow it shall be—­perhaps even to-night.  You are not going to be kept long in suspense.  Nor will I go alone and disobey Scotland Yard.  Your aged pet—­this spaniel dog—­shall join me.  Good Prince and I will retire early and, if you so desire it, we shall be very willing to welcome you in the Grey Room—­say some six or seven hours later.  I do not sleep there, but merely sustain a vigil, as all the others did.  But it will be briefer than theirs.  You will oblige me?”

Mary spoke, seeing the pain on her father’s face.  She felt certain that the old man knew perfectly what he was talking about.  She had spoken aside to Henry, and he agreed with her.  Mannetti had solved the mystery; he had even enabled them to solve it; but now, perhaps to punish them for their stupidity, he was deliberately withholding the key, half from love of effect, half in a spirit of mischief.  He was planning something theatrical.  He saw himself at the centre of the stage in this tragic drama, and it was not unnatural that he should desire to figure there effectively after taking so much trouble.  Thus, while Sir Walter still opposed, he was surprised to hear Mary plead on the visitor’s behalf, and his nephew support her.

“Signor Mannetti is quite right, father; I am positive of it,” she said.  “He is right; and because he is right, he is safe.”

“Admirably put!” cried the Italian.  “There you have the situation in a nutshell, my friends.  Trust a clever woman’s intuition.  I am indeed right.  Never was consciousness of right so impressed upon my mind—­prone as I am always to doubt my own conclusions.  I am, in fact, right because I cannot be wrong.  Trust me.  My own safety is absolutely assured, for we are concerned with the operations of men like ourselves—­at least, I hope very different from ourselves, but men, nevertheless.  It was your fate to revive this horror; it shall be my privilege to banish it out of the earth.  At a breath the cunning of the ungodly shall be brought to nought.  And not before it is time.  But the mills of God grind slowly.  Our achievement will certainly resound to the corners of the civilized world.”

“I’m as positive as the signor himself that he is safe, uncle,” said Henry Lennox.

“Let us go to tea,” replied Sir Walter.  “These things are far too deep for a plain man.  I only ask you to consider all this must mean to me who am the master of Chadlands and responsible to the authorities.  Reflect if ill overtook you.”