The morning brought a surprise to Mr. Reeder. When he arrived at his office he found Miss Gillette already on duty. That in itself was a notable event. She was entertaining in her room a very early caller in Dr. Ingham, and from the solicitude in her tone it almost seemed that she was mothering him. Miss Gillette was one of those uncomfortable people whose maternal instinct was highly developed. As Mr. Reeder paused at the half opened door, he heard her speaking. “I shouldn’t worry about it, Dr. Ingham. Reeder will put a stop to any of that sort of nonsense. He is much cleverer than he looks.” Her maligned employer passed softly into his room and rang the bell. “I didn’t hear you come in--you scare the life out of me sometimes,” she complained, and added: “Mr. Ingham is here.” “Dr. Ingham,” said Mr. Reeder reproachfully. “You are--um--a little careless about--um--prefixes.” “He’s been attacked--somebody tried to break into his house last night,” said Miss Gillette. “Poor soul, he has a _terrible_ face!” “Let me see it, please,” said J.G. The clergyman had evidently passed a strenuous night. The bridge of his handsome nose bore a strip of sticking plaster. One eye, at the moment concealed behind a shade, was blue and swollen, and his lower lip was badly cut. “I’m afraid I look rather ghastly,” he said, as he shook hands with the detective. The undamaged portion of his face was white and drawn, and when he said that he had had no sleep that night Mr. Reeder was not surprised. He had gone back to St. Margaret’s on the previous night, and had driven himself from Dover, arriving at his house at ten o’clock. “Grayne Hall is built on the site of an old castle,” he said. “There was not enough of the original structure to restore, so I had the walls pulled down and erected a modern residence. Naturally it is very isolated, but there is some very excellent timber, and I have made a good garden. I returned before midnight, but I had hardly got to bed before my wife said that she heard a noise below. I went down, unarmed, of course, for I do not own so much as a shot gun. I had reached the hall and was feeling for the light switch, when somebody struck at me. I had a fearful blow on the face, but I managed to find an old battle axe which hung on the wall--luckily for me. With this I defended myself. My wife, who had heard the fracas in the hall, screamed, and I heard one of my assailants say: ‘Run for it, Kennedy!’ Immediately after, the hall door was thrown open, and I saw two, or it may have been three, people run into the garden and vanish.” “Dear me,” said Mr. Reeder. “One of them said: ‘Run for it, Kennedy!’ You are sure it was that?” “I could swear that was the name. Afterwards I remembered, or rather my dear wife remembered, that a man named Kennedy had been a member of the Pizarro gang.” Mr. Reeder was examining the clergyman’s injuries thoughtfully. “No weapon was used?” Dr. Ingham smiled painfully.