At her master’s call she had appeared in the verandah above us as we mounted the last terrace towards the house, and had stood there watching our ascent with no trace of surprise, or, indeed, of any emotion whatever, on her black, inscrutable face.  Her eyes met mine as though she had never seen me before.  To her care Dr. Beauregard had given over the still unconscious Glass, and, with a sign to Mr. Rogers and Mr. Goodfellow to follow her with their burden, she had led the way through the house to the bedroom at the back.  There, in a bed between spotlessly clean sheets, they had laid the patient, and been dismissed by her.  It was she who, less than ten minutes later, had brought our tea to us in the verandah, and with our tea many little plates heaped with small cakes and sweetmeats—­ all fresh, as though she had been expecting us for hours, and could command the resources of a city.  I kept a sharp look-out, but of the strange lady—­the lady of the graveyard—­I could detect no trace.  Nothing indicated her presence, unless it were the dainty feminine furniture of the drawing-room.

“I’ve a strong sense of the right of property,” said Miss Belcher, sipping her tea and touching the oilskin wrapper, which lay in her lap unopened as Captain Branscome had handed it to her; and so has Jack Rogers here.  You tell me, sir, that you hold Mortallone by grant, and doubtless you can show your title.”

“Willingly, madam.”  Dr. Beauregard rose, and stepped to the French window.  “You can read Spanish?” he asked, turning there and pausing.

“Not a word”, answered Miss Belcher.  The Doctor smiled.  “It would impart nothing it you could,” said he, with a smile, “for I will own to you frankly that Mortallone has always been under suspicion of containing treasure, and in the grant all treasure-trove is expressly reserved.  I cannot say,” he added, smiling again, “that I have strictly observed the clause; but, as between you and me, it legally disposes of my claim.”

“Thank you,” said Miss Belcher; “but I don’t own an equally tender conscience towards Governments.”  Here Mr. Rogers winked at me, for as a patron of smugglers Miss Belcher enjoyed some reputation, even for a Cornish landowner.  “We will leave Government out of the question; but as proprietor—­lord of the manor, as we should say at home—­you have a right to your share; and that, by English law—­which I suggest we follow—­is one-third.”

Dr. Beauregard bowed.  “I’m infinitely obliged to you, ma’am, and I make no doubt that what you so generously promise you will as honourably give—­when I claim it.  In truth, I have something more than enough for my needs.  There was a time (I will confess) when I had sold my soul, if I possessed such a thing, for a glimpse of what lies written on that parchment.  But I am old; and old age—­” He broke off the sentence and did not resume it, but went on presently, with a change of tone:  “However, I still keep a sporting interest in the treasure, which has baffled me all these years, the more so because I have a shrewd suspicion that it has lain all the while within a mile or so of where we sit at this moment.”