How dark and silent and lonely the house looked, rising gaunt and dim in the uncertain light!  Who would choose such a spot for a home?  Surely only those whose deeds would not bear the light of day.  And why that deadly silence and torpor in a house inhabited by human beings?  It seemed unnatural and uncanny, and as a great white owl swept by on silent wing with a hollow note of challenge, Cuthbert felt a chill sense of coming ill creep through his veins and run down his spine; and fearful lest his resolution should desert him at the last, he raised his hand and gave the thrice-repeated knock he had been taught by Father Urban.

He doubted if the signal would be heard.  He could scarcely believe that the house boasted any inhabitants, but soon he heard a heavy yet cautious tread approach the door from the other side.  Some heavy bolts were drawn back, and the door was opened a little way.

“Who is there?” asked a muffled voice.

“One wishful to see Master Robert Catesby.”

“Why come to this back door, then?  Why not approach the house by the front way, like an honest man?”

Cuthbert was rather taken aback by this question.  He answered with a touch of sharpness: 

“I came the way I was bidden to come.  If I am in fault, the blame lies with him who sent me.”

“And who is that?”

“Father Urban.”

At the sound of that name the door was cautiously opened a little further, and Cuthbert felt himself confronted by a man whose face still remained in deep shadow.

“You come from Father Urban, and with a message to Robert Catesby?”

“Not a message; a packet which methinks contains papers.  I was bidden to deliver them into no hand but his, and to destroy both them and myself sooner than let them fall into alien hands.”

At that the door opened wider yet, and Cuthbert could look along a dark stone passage, at the end of which glowed a light.  His companion’s first suspicions now appeared laid to rest.

“Come in, come in.  Speak not thus aloud without, even at this dead hour of dim loneliness.  Men like ourselves stand in sore need of every caution.  Come in, and let me lock the door behind us.  There may be spies lurking even round these walls.”

“Spies!” echoed Cuthbert, as he strode along the passage towards the light.  “I fear no spies; I have naught to conceal!”

But the other man was drawing the heavy bolts, and did not hear this remark.  He followed Cuthbert into the great vaulted kitchen, which was illumined by a noble fire, the warmth of which was very welcome to the youth after his chilly voyage on the river.  There was some cooking going on at the stove, and an appetizing odour filled the air.

Cuthbert turned his curious glance upon the custodian of this strange place, and saw a man who was evidently a gentleman, though very plainly and simply dressed, and employed at this moment in menial toil.  He had a thin, worn face, and his eyes gleamed brightly under their heavy brows.  He looked like one who had seen both trouble and suffering, and had grown somewhat reckless under successive miseries,