It was patent that this Lake of Wine was the clue to the riddle and the pass-word of the conspirators. But with the last how deeply was the caretaker involved; and to what extent was he to be depended on in the performance of his nightly services? Probably his officiousness in that respect was employed as a blind. Not probably was his habitual nervousness assumed. In greatest likelihood he was in weak process of corruption--one hand held to his duty, the other to his interest; and, if this were so, no doubt was as to which way his constitutional depravity would eventually decide him to incline. Then would it be wise to here and now give him short shrift of notice, and so rid the house of an incubus and an embarrassment? Scarcely; for so should he--Robert Tuke--not only advertise himself in apprehension of his surroundings, whereby his enemies might be tempted to a bolder policy; but he should drive from his camp an informer, whose uses, so long as he assumed himself undetected, must all be for his intended victim. No; the fellow must stay for the present, and be treated with a show of consideration, too; else would mistrust awakened in him greatly complicate the situation. It was a maddening hotch-potch of confusion; the more so as all this fabric of suspicion, being builded on conjecture, might at any moment resolve itself into thin air. CHAPTER XII. Mr. Tuke was arrayed resplendent, _cap-à-pie_. His personal baggage had reached him from London, and he felt human, in the sense of the beast of civilization, once more. If his household was as yet unenlarged and his halls filled with little but echoes, he had at least a retiring chamber worthy of the most exquisite refinements of a Georgian toilet. It was four o’clock of a sunny afternoon as he descended the stairs, pulling on his gloves; for he was for a little party at “Chatters,” to meet a neighbour or so, and Whimple held his horse at the door. Taking him altogether, he was a handsome and amiable-looking gentleman, and manly withal; nor did his subscription to the dandyism of the day exhibit exaggeration or tastelessness. It is true his hair, now surmounted by the high-crowned beaver hat of the period, was “craped,” as the fashion-books would say, over his forehead, and liberally anointed with some lustrous oil; but cleanliness in this respect would have then been considered the merest affectation of eccentricity. For the rest, his long riding-coat, of many capes, concealed a toilet of cloth and silk and plaited lawn that, in its mode and finish, bespoke the highest traditions of metropolitan elegance. So, at any rate, thought Betty Pollack, who was standing in the porch waiting to have a word with his honour. Betty had driven over with her grandfather in an old taxed-cart, which was now drawn up at the broad end of the drive. She curtsied like a daffodil to the sun; and Mr. Tuke nodded brightly to her as he buttoned the last ray of his glories into his coat.