‘Shall we take her round to the front-door on this?’ Richard suggested. ‘Are you mad?’ exclaimed Raphael Craig, with sudden disapproval. ‘Teresa will walk.’ He locked the charred door of the stable with a padlock which he took from his pocket, and they proceeded to the house. Bridget stood at the front-door, seeming to expect them. ‘You’re not well, mavourneen,’ she said, glancing at Teresa’s face, and led the girl away. During the whole of the time spent by him at Queen’s Farm nothing impressed Richard more than the impassive yet affectionate demeanour of Mrs. Bridget, that mysterious old servant, on this occasion. The two men were left together in the hall. Mrs. Bridget and Teresa had gone upstairs. ‘Mike!’ Raphael Craig called. ‘Yes, sorr,’ answered Mike, appearing from a small butler’s pantry under the staircase. ‘Bring whisky into the drawing-room.’ ‘That I will, sorr.’ Richard admired Micky’s sangfroid, which was certainly tremendous, and he determined to have an interview with the man before many hours were past, in order to see whether he could not break that sangfroid down. ‘Come into the drawing-room, will you?’, said Raphael Craig. ‘Thanks,’ said Richard. The drawing-room proved to be the room into which Mr. Craig had vanished on the _previous_ night. It presented, to his surprise, no unusual feature whatever. It had the customary quantities of chairs, occasional tables, photographs, knicknacks, and cosy corners. It was lighted by a single lamp suspended from the middle of the ceiling. The only article of furniture that by any stretch of fancy could be termed extraordinary in a drawing-room was a rather slim grandfather’s clock in an inlaid case of the Sheraton period. This clock struck one as they went into the room. Micky arrived with the whisky. ‘You will join me?’ asked Raphael, lifting the decanter. ‘Thanks,’ said Richard. ‘That will do, Mike.’ Mike departed. The two men ignited cigars and drank. Each was seated in a large easy-chair. ‘Now for it,’ said Richard to himself. Mr. Raphael Craig coughed. ‘I dare say, Mr. Redgrave,’ the bank manager began, ‘that certain things which you have seen this evening will have struck you as being somewhat strange.’ ‘I am happy to have been of any help,’ said Richard. Raphael bowed. ‘I will not disguise from you,’ he continued, that when you arrived here in such a peculiar manner last night I had my suspicious of your good faith. I even thought for a moment--it was very foolish of me--that you were from Scotland Yard. I don’t know why I should have thought that, but I did think it.’ ‘Really,’ said Richard, ‘I have not the least connection with Scotland Yard. I told you my business.’