A feeling of helpless exasperation gripped Fenwick to the exclusion of all other emotions. Everything seemed to be going wrong just now; turn in any direction he pleased some obstacle blocked his path. Like most cunning criminals he could never quite dispossess himself of the idea that honesty and cleverness never went together. All honest men were fools of necessity, and therefore the legitimate prey of rogues like himself. And yet, though he was more or less confronted now with men of integrity, he was as helpless in their hands as if he had been a child. The maddening part of the whole thing was his inability to find anything to strike. He was like a general leading an army into the dark in a strange country, and knowing all the time that he had cunning unseen foes to fight. Thoughts like these were uppermost in Fenwick's mind as he gazed in consternation about the little room from which Evors had vanished. So far as Fenwick knew, Evors had saved his life from Zary, but that had not prevented Fenwick from behaving in a dastardly fashion. It seemed to him as if Fate were playing into his hands by bringing Evors here at this moment. Hitherto he had found Evors such plastic material that he had never seriously considered him in the light of a foe. Now, for the first time, he saw how greatly he had been mistaken. "Where can the fellow have gone to?" he muttered. "And whence comes his intimate knowledge of the house?" He tapped the walls, he examined the floor, but there was no sign whatever of the means by which Evors had made good his escape. Fenwick furiously rang the bell and demanded that the old caretaker should be sent to him at once. The man came to him, shambling unsteadily along and breathing fast as if he had been running. His aged features were quivering with some strange excitement, as Fenwick did not fail to notice, despite his own perturbation. "What on earth is the matter with you?" he exclaimed. "You look as if you had seen a ghost! What is it? Speak up, man!" "It isn't that, sir," the old man said in trembling tones. "It is a sight that I never expected to see again. A bit wild he was--aye, a rare handful at times, though we were all precious fond of him. And to see him back here again like this--" "What the devil are you talking about?" Fenwick burst out furiously. "The old fool is in his second childhood." "It was the young master," the caretaker babbled on. "Why, you could have knocked me down with a feather when he came in the house with you. As soon as I set eyes on Mr. Charles--" "Mr. what?" Fenwick asked. "Oh, I see what you mean. You are speaking of Mr. Evors, who came in with me." "That's it, sir, that's it," the old man said. "Mr. Evors, only we used to call him Mr. Charles." Fenwick began to understand. "Let's have it out," he said. "Mr. Evors, whom you saw with me just now, is Lord Merton's only son?"