He made no answer, but going over to the secret panel, opened it, and pointed to a darkened corner. With trembling hand I took a candle from the table, and, kneeling, looked inside. The Black Box was not there! *CHAPTER VI* *"Too Late"* When I glanced up, amazed and stupefied, it was to find my father’s eyes fixed on me with a look that I shall ne’er forget. ’Twas one of fear, and bitterness, and deep reproach. For a moment I was stricken dumb, then, scarce knowing what I said, I gasped: "Gone! How?" My father waved a hand towards the window, and, in a low voice, answered: "You have failed me, Michael." I did not, could not answer him, and so he went on in the same low, crushing voice: "Yes, Michael, you have failed me utterly. You have placed your father in the shadow of the gallows." Those words to me were like the plunging of a knife into my heart. Shame, self-reproach, could silence me no longer. "Sir!" I cried, springing to my feet, and facing him with tight-clenched hands, and burning cheeks, "you judge me harshly! I did not fail you willingly! I----" "You did not get my letter, then?" he put in sternly. "Yes, sir, I got your letter, but other stirring things clean drove it from my mind." "And, pray, what stirring things are those?" "Why, hast not heard the news?" "I have heard naught. I have not long returned, and though methought I heard a sound of some commotion in the town, I took but little heed. My thoughts were far away. My friend is dead. But, say, what news is that which made you fail your father?" "Duke Monmouth landed here, at Lyme, to-night!" With one deep, sobbing groan, my father staggered back into a chair, and there sat, limp and helpless, like a man bereft of reason. "Monmouth--landed--here--at--Lyme!" he gasped at length. "Then are we utterly undone, and both may look upon the gallows as our own. For, verily, the words I spake this morning are now proven. He who hath thus put us into jeopardy is in truth a creature of that plotter, Robert Ferguson, and----" "Nay, sir," I broke in desperately, like one who grasps at silken threads to save himself; "it surely is not proven yet--perchance some other----" In speaking I had moved a step towards my father, and now, as if to mock me and to prove his words, a something grated underneath my foot. Stooping, I picked it up; and holding it upon my outstretched palm, stared at it fixedly. "’Tis proven now," I murmured. "What’s that?" rejoined my father, starting forward in his chair. "The sign of Tubal Ammon," I replied, still gazing hard at what lay in my hand. "’Tis one of those small carven balls he did his trick with by the roadside. He has been here beyond a doubt."