They went on through the inner hall, the dining-room, two magnificent drawing-rooms, and a wretched little library, for the smallness of which the housemaid gloomily apologised. “Mr. Bradfield’s books, like the rest of the things, were scattered in all directions about the house,” she said. But Mrs. Abercarne was no longer charmed by this arrangement. The poor lady was really alarmed, and even the imposing proportions of the drawing-room, and the display of magnificent old plate in the dining-room, failed to rekindle her admiration. They visited the basement, where the cook and the rest of the household were formally presented to her, and then she herself cut short the inspection and returned upstairs. She lingered, as Chris and the housemaid behind her were forced to linger too, on the staircase. They were opposite a door which the housemaid had not opened; it was Mr. Bradfield’s study, she said. Just as Mrs. Abercarne was about to ask a question about the strange noises, the door from which they had issued was opened quickly, and a man-servant, out of livery, who looked heated, disordered and breathless, ran out and locked it quickly behind him. In answer to an enquiry not spoken, but looked by the housemaid, the man said, briefly: “It’s all right. He’s quiet now,” and disappeared quickly down the back staircase. Mrs. Abercarne drew a long breath which sounded almost like a stifled scream; Chris looked fixedly at the locked door. “What door is that?” she asked. The housemaid, after hesitating a moment, and glancing towards the door of the study, answered in a low voice: “Those are Mr. Richard’s rooms.” “And who is Mr. Richard?” asked Mrs. Abercarne. The woman did not immediately answer. During the short pause which succeeded the lady’s question, the study door was opened suddenly, and Mr. Bradfield came out, looking very angry. “Now, haven’t I told you not to make a mystery about Mr. Richard?” said he sharply to the housemaid. “What do you mean by frightening these poor ladies out of their wits with your mysterious nods and winks? You and Stelfox, the pair of you? Why can’t you answer a simple question straightforwardly, and have done with it?” The housemaid remained silent, and looked down on the floor. “I thought, sir--I thought, perhaps, the ladies might be alarmed----” she began. “Alarmed!” echoed Mr. Bradfield impatiently. “And who knows it better than yourself that there is nothing to be alarmed about?” Dismissing the woman with a wave of the hand, he turned to the ladies. “It is only a poor young lad, the son of an old clerk of mine. He is not quite as bright as he might be, poor fellow! but I can’t bear to send him to a home or an asylum, or anything of that sort. I should never feel sure how they were treating him. But he is harmless, I assure you. Perfectly, entirely harmless.”