Who was breaking windows at this hour of the morning? Surely not the careful Bhag—so far he had reached in his speculations when the morning air was rent by a shrill scream, of such fear that his flesh went cold. It came from the upper room and ended abruptly, as though somebody had put his hand over the mouth of the unfortunate from whom that cry of terror had been wrung. Hesitating no longer, Michael stepped from his place of concealment, ran quickly across the gravel, and pulled at the bell before the great entrance, which was immediately under the tower. He heard the clang of the bell and looked quickly round, to make absolutely sure that Bhag or some of the copper-coloured retainers of Griff Towers were not trailing him. A minute passed—two—and his hand was again raised to the iron bell-pull, when he heard heavy feet in the corridor, a shuffle of slippers on the tiled floor of the hall, and a gruff voice demanded: “Who’s there?” “Michael Brixan.” There was a grunt, a rattle of chains, a snapping of locks, and the big door opened a few inches. Gregory Penne was wearing a pair of grey flannel trousers and a shirt, the wristbands of which were unfastened. His malignant glare changed to wonder at the sight of the detective. “What do you want?” he demanded, and opened the door a few more inches. “I want to see you,” said Michael. “Usually call at daybreak?” growled the man as he closed the door on his visitor. Michael made no answer, but followed Gregory Penne to his room. The library had evidently been occupied throughout the night. The windows were shuttered, the electroliers were burning, and before the fire was a table and two whisky bottles, one of which was empty. “Have a drink?” said Penne mechanically, and poured himself out a portion with an unsteady hand. “Is your ape in?” asked Michael, refusing the preferred drink with a gesture. “What, Bhag? I suppose so. He goes and comes as he likes. Do you want to see him?” “Not particularly,” said Michael. “I’ve seen him once to-night.” Penne was lighting the stub of a cigar from the fire as he spoke, and he looked round quickly. “You’ve seen him before? What do you mean?” “I saw him at the Dower House, trying to get into Miss Leamington’s room, and he was as near to being a dead orang-outang as he has ever been.” The man dropped the lighted spill on the hearth and stood up. “Did you shoot him?” he asked. “I shot at him.” Gregory nodded. “You shot at him,” he said softly. “That accounts for it. Why did you shoot him? He’s perfectly harmless.” “He didn’t strike me that way,” said Michael coolly. “He was trying to pull Miss Leamington from her room.” The man’s eyes opened. “He got so far, did he? Well?” There was a pause. “You sent him to get the girl,” said Michael. “You also bribed Foss to put a mark on the window so that Bhag should know where the girl was sleeping.” He paused, but the other made no reply.