Entering the gateway, I found myself in pretty, well-wooded and well-kept grounds; the house itself, long, low, and covered with trailing roses, was a typical English country rectory. Beyond that lay a paddock, while in the distance the beautiful Harewood Forest showed away upon the skyline. Yes, Mr. Shuttleworth was at home, the neat maid told me, and I was ushered into a long old-fashioned study, the French windows of which opened out upon a well-rolled tennis-lawn. The place smelt of tobacco-smoke. Upon the table lay a couple of well-seasoned briars, and on the wall an escutcheon bearing its owner's college arms. Crossed above the window was a pair of rowing-sculls, and these, with a pair of fencing-foils in close proximity, told mutely of long-past athletics. It was a quiet, book-lined den, an ideal retreat for a studious man. As my eyes travelled around the room, they suddenly fell upon a photograph in a dark leather frame, the picture of a young girl of seventeen or so, with her hair dressed low and secured by a big black bow. I started at sight of it. It was the picture of Sylvia Pennington! I crossed to look at it more closely, but as I did so the door opened, and I found myself face to face with the rector of Middleton. He halted as he recognized me--halted for just a second in hesitation; then, putting out his hand, he welcomed me, saying in his habitual drawl-- "Mr. Biddulph, I believe?" and invited me to be seated. "Ah!" I exclaimed, with a smile, "I see you recognize me, though we were only passers-by on the Lake of Garda! I must apologize for this intrusion, but, as a matter of fact, my servant Browning described a gentleman who called upon me a few days ago, and I at once recognized him to have been you. He was rather rude to you, I fear, and----" "My dear fellow!" he interrupted, with a hearty, good-natured laugh. "He only did his duty as your servant. He objected to my infernal impertinence--and very rightly, too." "It was surely no impertinence to call upon me!" I exclaimed. "Well, it's all a question of one's definition of impertinence," he said. "I made certain inquiries--rather searching inquiries regarding you--that was all." "Why?" I asked. He moved uneasily in his padded writing-chair, then reached over and placed a box of cigarettes before me. After we had both lit up, he answered in a rather low, changed voice-- "Well, I wanted to satisfy myself as to who you were, Mr. Biddulph," he laughed. "Merely to gratify a natural curiosity." "That's just it," I said. "Why should your curiosity have been aroused concerning me? I do not think I have ever made a secret to any one regarding my name or my position, or anything else." "But you might have done, remember," replied the thin-faced rector, looking at me calmly yet mysteriously with those straight grey eyes of his. "I don't follow you, Mr. Shuttleworth," I said, much puzzled.