had deterred me from presenting myself that very evening.

Yet, my night of idleness had not been altogether unfruitful. I had
met the scarred man, and from Hawkins I had heard something of his
singular story. Now as I stood there drinking in, as it were, the
loneliness of the prospect, my thoughts turned for the hundredth time
to the game-keeper's account of what had befallen the two rustic
rake-hells. I admit that the concluding part of Hawkins' story, quite
evidently regarded by him as a detail of no importance, had
re-awakened hope which had been at lowest ebb in the hour of my
arrival.

Although it was possible that the gift of a "sort of cat" to young
Edward Hines might prove on investigation to be not a clew but a
will-o'-the-wisp, I preferred to think that fate or the acute
reasoning of Inspector Gatton had sent me down to this quiet country
for a good purpose; and I built great hopes around the figure of the
"lady down from London." Indeed it appeared to me that there were more
lines of investigation demanding attention than alone I could hope to
deal with in the short time at my disposal. Except that I was
determined to visit Friar's Park early on the following day, I
scarcely knew in which direction next to prosecute my inquiries.

Determining that I should be well-advised to sleep on the problem, I
presently turned in. And when I blew out the candle with which the
chambermaid had provided me, I remember thinking that the moonlight
was so bright that it would have been possible to read moderately
large type without inconvenience.

I slept perhaps for two hours or more, an unrefreshing sleep disturbed