So it was arranged. Gifford spent the morning in a stroll about the familiar neighbourhood, and when luncheon time came they all met at Wynford Place. Miss Morriston was not present. Her brother apologized for her absence, saying she had been obliged to keep an engagement to lunch with a friend, but that she had promised to return quite early in the afternoon. Mr. Piercy, the antiquarian, proved to be by no means as dry as his pursuit suggested. He was a lively little man with a fund of interesting stories furnished by the lighter side of his work, and altogether the luncheon was quite amusing. When it was over Morriston suggested that, not to waste the daylight, they should begin their tour of the house; he called upon Gifford to share the duties of guidance, and the party moved off. "Hope you haven't been bored all the morning, Hugh," Kelson said to his friend as they found themselves side by side. "Any news at the _Lion_? Has Henshaw turned up yet?" Gifford shook his head. "No. Host Dipper has had another telegram of inquiry from the brother, but had nothing to tell him in return." Kelson's face became grave. "It really does begin to look serious," he remarked. "Yes; Dipper has been interviewing the police on the subject." "Has he? Well, I only hope Henshaw has not been playing the fool, or worse, and caused all this fuss for nothing." The party moved on to the great hall where the dancing had taken place, and so to the passage connecting the main building with the ancient tower. "Now this is the part which will no doubt interest you most, Mr. Piercy," Morriston said; "this fourteenth century tower, which is to-day in a really wonderful state of preservation." "Ah, yes," the archaeologist murmured; "they could build in those days." They examined the two lower rooms on the ground and first floors, remarked on the thickness of the walls, shown by the depth of the window embrasures, which in older days had been put to sterner purposes; they admired the solid strength of the ties and hammer-beams in the roofs, and scrutinized the few articles of ancient furniture and tapestry the rooms contained, and the massive oaken iron-bound door which admitted to the garden. "Now we will go up to the top room," Morriston proposed. "It is used only for lumber, but there is quite a good view from it." He preceded the rest of the party up the winding stairs to the topmost door. "Hullo!" he exclaimed, pushing at it, "the door is locked. And the key appears to have been taken away," he added, bending down and feeling about in the imperfect light. The whole party was consequently held up on the narrow stairs. "I'll go and ask what has become of the key," Morriston said, making his way past them. In a minute he returned, presently followed by the butler. "How is it that this top door is locked, Stent?" he asked. "And where is the key?"