It was an immense relief to Luigi to find that his grandfather made no mention of Miss Jennings. His fear had been lest, during his absence, that young person might have sought out Sir Gilbert and have enlightened him as to the absurd offer which he, Luigi, had made her on her birthday night when under the insidious influence of _Veuve Cliequot_. When, therefore, his grandfather turned away without mentioning “Miss J.’s” name he felt that a great danger had passed him by. But while one weight had been lifted off his mind, another crushed him down with a force from which he found it impossible to free himself. Ever before him loomed the black shadow of the deed to which he had become engaged. Sleeping or waking, it held him with a nightmare grip. He ate his dinner not because he wanted or cared for it, but because not to have done so would have laid him open to question and remark. After dinner came whist, Captain Verinder making up the quartette, _vice_ Everard Lisle. Ethel and Luigi, being free to follow their own devices, engaged in a desultory conversation, chiefly anent the latter’s recent travel experiences, which before long began to languish and presently died out. Then, with a muttered excuse that he was altogether behindhand with English news, Luigi seized on a batch of illustrated papers and buried himself among them, while Ethel’s face brightened perceptibly. She saw before her not merely the prospect of a cosy hour with a favourite author, but an escape from a _tête-à-tête_ with Mr. Lewis Clare. Next morning the Captain routed Luigi out of bed at an untimely hour. “I want you to show me Sir Gilbert’s study,” he said, “and the desk in which he keeps the key of the strong room.” There was no difficulty about doing that, because the study door was never locked overnight, in order that the servants might have access to it betimes, their orders being to have it in readiness for Sir Gilbert by ten o’clock to the minute. The room was empty when Luigi opened the door and went in, followed by his uncle. “That is the door of the strong room—iron, as you see—and this is the drawer in which the key of it is always kept,” said the former. “And where is the key of the drawer kept?” queried the Captain. “It is one of a bunch grandfather carries about with him and rarely lets out of his own keeping.” Verinder glanced at the door, then he tried the drawer, which, as a matter of course, was locked, and then he stooped and examined the keyhole. “As far as I can judge,” he said, “the lock is of quite an ordinary kind, and you ought not to experience much difficulty in picking it.” “But what will grandfather think when he finds the drawer unlocked?” questioned Luigi.