Leaving the carriage at the front entrance of the deserted and stately old house, the attorneys crossed the terrace and walked around to the western veranda, preceded by Bedney, who paused at the steps, and waved them to ascend.

“Go up and see for yourselves.  I am nigh as I want to git.”

The stone floor was strewn with branches of rose vine, and the pruning shears lay open upon them, just as they had fallen from the old man’s hand.  The sun had passed several degrees below the meridian, and the shadows of the twisted iron columns were aslant eastward, but the glare of light shone on the plate-glass door, which was rounded into an arch at top, and extended within four inches of the surface of the floor, where it fitted into the wooden frame.  It was one wide sheet, unbroken into panes, and on the outside dust had collected, and a family of spiders had colonized in the lower corner, spinning their gray lace quite across the base.  It was evident that the Venetian blinds had long been closed, and recently opened, as a line of dust and dried drift leaves attested; and behind the glass hung the dull red, plush curtain, almost to the floor.

Both gentlemen pressed forward, and looked in; but saw nothing.

“Hang your head kinder sideways, down so, and look up, Mars Lennox.”

Mr. Dunbar changed his position, and after an instant, started back.

“Do you see it, Churchill?  No hallucination; it is as plain as print, just like the negative of a photograph.”

“Bless my soul!  It beats the Chinese jugglers!  What a curious thing!”

“Stand back a little; you obstruct the light.  Now, how clearly it comes out.”

Printed apparently on the plush background, like the images in a camera, were the distinctly outlined and almost life-size figures of two men.  Clad in a long gown, with loose sleeves, Gen’l Darrington stood near the hearth, brandishing the brass unicorn in one hand, the other thrown out and clinched; the face rather more than profile, scarcely three-quarters, was wonderfully distinct, and the hair much dishevelled.  In front was the second portrait, that of a tall, slender young man who appeared to have suddenly wheeled around from the open vault, turning his countenance fully to view; while he threw up a dark, square object to ward off the impending blow.  A soft wool hat pushed back, showed the curling hair about his temples, and the remarkable regularity of his handsome features; while even the plaid pattern of his short coat was clearly discernible.

As the attorneys came closer, or stepped back from the door, the images seemed to vary in distinctness, and viewed from two angles they became invisible.

Mr. Churchill stared blankly; Mr. Dunbar’s gaze was riveted on the face of the burglar, and he took his underlip between his teeth, as was his habit in suppressing emotion.

“Of course there is some infernal trick about this; but how do you account for it?  It is beyond Bedney’s sleight of hand,” said the District Solicitor.