"That is your own concern," said Gebb, rising. "Still you might arrange for me to have an interview with him, as he might throw some light on the subject." "I fail to see how he can," said Prain, raising his eyebrows. "Miss Gilmar never corresponded with him during her travels. If any one will know about her, it will be Miss Wedderburn." "Ah! I'm going down to see her," said Gebb, putting on his hat. "I'll have a look at the original of the Yellow Boudoir at the same time." "I say," said Prain, as the detective moved towards the door. "Well!" replied Gebb, turning. "If you see Edith, ask about her lover." "Which of them, Alder or Ferris?" said Gebb, stolidly. "Don't mention the name of either," repeated Prain slowly, "but ask about her lover. Then--well, you'll see what will come of your question." The detective gazed steadily at the solicitor. "What do you mean?" he demanded, struck by the significance of the man's words and look. "You'll find that out when she answers." "How will she answer?" demanded Gebb, quite mystified. "Ah!" said Prain, with a long breath, "you ask and see." CHAPTER IX KIRKSTONE HALL The day following his conversation with the little solicitor, Gebb left Waterloo Station for Norminster in Hampshire, and arrived at that quaint little town about midday. On making inquiries he learned that Kirkstone Hall was a mile distant, situate amid some woods near the banks of the Avon. As it was a fine morning, and Gebb was fond of walking, he used his own legs to reach his destination; and after a pleasant stroll through rural lanes, and across flowering meadows, he reached a pair of finely wrought iron gates which stood wide open. The gates themselves were covered with red rust, the lodge beside them was shut up, and the stately avenue, which curved upward between noble oak trees, was overgrown with grass. Even on the threshold, as it were, of the estate, Gebb espied the ruinous economy of the late Miss Gilmar. On coming in sight of the Hall, he found the hand of Time still more heavily laid upon the works of man. It was a quaint Jacobean building of red brick, set upon a slight rise, and surrounded by stone terraces. From the main body two wings spread to right and left, but the windows of these were all closely shuttered. The hall door was also closed, and--so far as Gebb could see--no smoke curled from the stacks of chimneys. The terraces were grass-grown, the gardens untended and in disorder, and the whole place had a silent, melancholy aspect as though the soul of the house had departed. It was the palace of the Sleeping Beauty, enchanted and spell-bound, and it seemed as though there were a curse on the place. "And no wonder!" said Gebb, looking at the gaunt mansion, grim even in the sunshine, "seeing the kind of people who lived in it, and the crimes they committed."