“If I had my way, Fabrian, dear”--she assumed all the rights and privileges of an engagement which was somewhat illusory and he made only a feeble resistance--“if I had my way I’d put you in charge of this case. After all, you are the very man to solve this mystery and I must say you could have knocked me down with a feather when you told me you were fifty--you don’t look a day more than thirty--and you’ve got experience, you’re a lawyer, you’re up to all kinds of artfulness----” “Not to all kinds,” said Gilder with a grim recollection of a certain blank check. “Well, to most kinds,” conceded Miss Wenner. “And what are they all doing? This Dick Alford and this so-called detective? They’re just standing around, scratching their heads, whilst you could go, as it were, to the real heart of the mystery. Don’t deny it--I’m sure you would, Fabe.” “Don’t call me Fabe, Mary,” he asked gently. “If you want to call me by my Christian name, let us have all the three syllables.” “You’re a man of the world, Fabrian”--she accentuated the word as she would have done “Mary Ann”--“you understand the ins and outs of everything. Why don’t they come to you like men and say, ‘Mr. Gilder, what is your opinion of this mystery?’ Instead of which, they don’t so much as ask you if you’ve got a mouth!” “Perhaps they know that,” said Gilder in good humour. He lifted his head suddenly, a frown on his face. He had heard a shot; more than a shot, the whirr and whine of a bullet. “What----” Something fell at his feet with a “plop!” He saw a little hole, and, stooping, dug out a bullet with his fingers. “Where on earth did that come from?” He looked up at the sky, but the aëroplane which was later to make an appearance, and which had nothing to do with this mysterious shooting, was not yet in sight. Dick had heard the shot and was running across the lawn. “Did you----” he began. _Plop!_ They heard it again, and presently Dick saw leaves fall from a laurel bush and heard the thud of an impact. One of the police who were still patrolling the grounds shouted to him, but he could not hear what he was saying, and raced across to him. Nearer at hand, he saw that the man was pointing to the ruins. “It came from there,” shouted the constable, and Dick changed direction. He was flying up the slope when the third shot sounded, and this time he located it with fair accuracy. Somebody was shooting from the tower. Happily, he had made preparations for the blacksmith’s visit, and there was an assortment of lanterns near the entrance. He stopped long enough to light one, and, slipping back the catch with his knife, he pushed aside the stone corner piece and ran down the stairs. The room was empty. He tried the mystery door; that, too, was closed. Somebody shouted his name from the landing above and he answered: “Come down, Gilder. There’s nobody here.”