“I wouldn’t have a mark up there, anyway, should I? Right in the middle of a window! What do you make of it?” “I think Foss put it there with one object. The window was marked at Gregory’s request.” “But why?” asked Knebworth, staring. “To show Bhag Adele Leamington’s room. That’s why,” said Michael, and he was confident that his view was an accurate one. CHAPTER XII A CRY FROM A TOWER MICHAEL did not wait to see the early morning scenes shot. He had decided upon a course of action, and as soon as he conveniently could, he made his escape from the Dower House, and, crossing a field, reached the road which led to Griff Towers. Possessing a good eye for country, he had duly noted the field-path which ran along the boundary of Sir Gregory Penne’s estate, and was, he guessed, a short cut to Griff; and ten minutes’ walk brought him to the stile where the path joined the road. He walked quickly, his eyes on the ground, looking for some trace of the beast; but there had been no rain, and, unless he had wounded the animal, there was little hope that he would pick up the track. Presently he came to the high flint wall which marked the southern end of the baronet’s grounds, and this he followed until he came to a postern let in the wall, a door that appeared to have been recently in use, for it was ajar, he noted with satisfaction. Pushing it open, he found himself in a large field which evidently served as kitchen garden for the house. There was nobody in sight. The grey tower looked even more forbidding and ugly in the early morning light. No smoke came from the chimneys; Griff was a house of the dead. Nevertheless, he proceeded cautiously, and, instead of crossing the field, moved back into the shadow of the wall until he reached the high boxwood fence that ran at right angles and separated the kitchen garden from that beautiful pleasaunce which Jack Knebworth had used the previous morning as a background for his scenes. And all the time he kept his eyes roving, expecting at any moment to see the hideous figure of Bhag appear from the ground. At last he reached the end of the hedge. He was now within a few paces of the gravelled front, and less than half a dozen yards from the high, square grey tower which gave the house its name. From where he stood he could see the whole front of the house. The drawn white blinds, the general lifelessness of Griff, might have convinced a less sceptical man than Mike Brixan that his suspicions were unfounded. He was hesitating as to whether he should go to the house or not, when he heard a crash of glass, and looked up in time to see fragments falling from the topmost room of the tower. The sun had not yet risen, the earth was still wrapped in the illusory dawn light, and the hedge made an admirable hiding-place.