SIR ALLAN BEAUMERVILLE VISITS THE COURT On the following day Sir Allan duly arrived, and in a very short space of time Helen's fears had altogether vanished. His appearance was certainly not that of an anxious wooer. He was pale and haggard and thin, altogether a different person to the brilliant man about town who was such a popular figure in society. Something seemed to have aged him. There were lines and wrinkles in his face which had never appeared there before, and an air of restless depression in his manner and bearing quite foreign to his former self. On the first evening Mr. Thurwell broached some plans for his entertainment, but Sir Allan stopped him at once. "If I may be allowed to choose," he said, "I should like to be absolutely quiet for a few days. London life is not the easiest in the world, and I'm afraid I must be getting an old man. At any rate I am knocked up, and I want a rest." "You have come to the right place for that," Mr. Thurwell laughed. "You could live here for months and never see a soul if you chose. But I'm afraid you'll soon be bored." "I'm not afraid of that," Sir Allan answered quietly. "Besides, my excuse was not altogether a fiction. I really am an enthusiastic botanist, and I want to take up my researches here just where I was obliged to leave them off so suddenly last year." Mr. Thurwell nodded. "I remember," he said; "you were staying at Mallory, weren't you, when that sad affair to poor Kynaston happened?" "Yes." Sir Allan moved his chair a little, as though to escape from the warmth of the fire, and sat where the heavily shaded lamp left his face in the shadow. "Yes, that was a terrible affair," he said in a low tone; "and a very mysterious one. Nothing has ever been heard of the murderer, I suppose?" "Nothing." "And there are no rumors, no suspicions?" Mr. Thurwell looked uneasily around, as though to satisfy himself that there were no servants lingering in the room. "It is scarcely a thing to be talked about," he said slowly; "but there have been things said." "About whom?" "About my tenant at Falcon's Nest--Bernard Maddison, as he turned out to be." "Ah!" Mr. Thurwell looked at his guest wonderingly. He could not quite make up his mind whether he was profoundly indifferent or equally interested. His tone sounded a little cold. "There was a fellow down here in my employ," continued Mr. Thurwell, lighting a fresh cigar, "who turns out to have been a spy or detective of some sort. Of course I knew nothing of it at the time--in fact, I've only just found it out; but it seems he ransacked Falcon's Nest and discovered some papers which he avowed quite openly would hang Mr. Maddison. But what's become of him I don't know." "I suppose he didn't disclose the nature of the papers?" Sir Allan asked quietly.