“The noble Earl, deciding to await hi∫ arrival, carried two _companie_∫ of hor∫e by night into the great caves which exi∫ted in the∫e times. By the merciful di∫pen∫ation of God, in Who∫e Hands we are, there occurred, at eight o’clock in the forenoon, a great land∫lide which entombed and de∫troyed all the∫e knights and ∫quires, and ∫ir John Dudley, Earl of Newport, ∫o that they were never more ∫een. And the place of this happening is nine miles in a line from this ∫ame city, called by the Romans Regnum, or Ciffancea∫ter in the Saxon fa∫hion.” “Have the caves ever been located?” Mr. Scott shook his head. “There are local rumours that they were used a century and a half ago by brandy smugglers, but then you find those traditions local to every district.” Michael took a local map of Chichester from his pocket, measured off nine miles, and with a pair of compasses encircled the city. He noted that the line passed either through or near Sir Gregory’s estate. “There are two Griff Towers?” he suddenly said, examining the map. “Yes, there is another besides Penne’s place, which is named after a famous local landmark—the real Griffin Tower (as it was originally called). I have an idea it stands either within or about Penne’s property—a very old, circular tower, about twenty feet high, and anything up to two thousand years old. I’m interested in antiquities, and I have made a very careful inspection of the place. The lower part of the wall is undoubtedly Roman work—the Romans had a big encampment here; in fact, Regnum was one of their headquarters. There are all sorts of explanations for the tower. Probably it was a keep or blockhouse. The idea I have is that the original Roman tower was not more than a few feet high and was not designed for defence at all. Successive ages added to its height, without exactly knowing why.” Michael chuckled. “Now if my theory is correct, I shall hear more about this Roman castle before the night is out,” he said. He gathered his trunks from the hotel and took them off to his new home. He found that the dinner-table was laid for three. “Expecting company?” asked Michael, watching Jack Knebworth putting the finishing touches on the table—he had a bachelor’s finicking sense of neatness, which consists of placing everything at equal distance from everything else. “Yuh! Friend of yours.” “Of mine?” Jack nodded. “I’ve asked young Leamington to come up. And when I see a man of your age turning pink at the mention of a girl’s name, I feel sorry for him. She’s coming partly on business, partly for the pleasure of meeting me in a human atmosphere. She didn’t do so well to-day as I wanted, but I guess we were all a little short of our best.” She came soon after, and there was something about her that was very sweet and appealing; something that went straight to Michael’s heart and consolidated the position she had taken there.