"My aunt is very deaf," the girl said. "She can read what I say by my lips, but it will be useless for you to try and converse with her. Mr. Boyne can just manage to do so." "Then I’ll do the same," said Gerald, glancing around the front parlour, into which Mrs. Felmore had then ushered them. He noted the cheapness of the furniture, combined with scrupulous cleanliness, as Mrs. Felmore, turning to him, said in that loud voice in which the deaf usually converse: "I hope you’ll make yourself at home, Mr. Durrant! Any friend of my niece is welcome here. Would you like a cup of tea? I know Marigold will have one." He thanked her, and she went below to prepare it, leaving the pair in Mr. Boyne’s room. Quickly Gerald rose, remarking: "There’s nothing very curious about this, is there?" He made a critical tour of the apartment. He noticed the cupboards on either side of the fireplace, and on trying the handle of one, found it locked. "He keeps his insurance papers in there," said his companion in a low voice. "What? More insurance papers! I thought he kept them in the locked room upstairs!" exclaimed Durrant. "So he does, but there are some others here," she said. "This cupboard is open. He keeps Nibby here." "Nibby—who’s that?" "Here he is!" replied the girl, opening the door and taking out the cage containing the tame rat. "Is that his pet?" asked the young man, bending to examine the little animal, whose beady eyes regarded him with considerable apprehension. "Yes. Nibby always feeds off his master’s plate after he has finished. A sweet little thing, isn’t he?" Durrant agreed, but the possession of such a pet showed him that Boyne was a man of some eccentricity. "Would you like to see the door of the locked room?" Marigold asked. "If so, I’ll go downstairs and keep my aunt there while you run up to the top floor." "Excellent! I’ve brought my electric torch with me." So while Marigold descended to the kitchen to talk to her aunt and help to prepare the cup of tea, young Durrant switched on his light and rushed up the stairs, half fearing lest the front door should suddenly open and Boyne appear. Arrived at the top of the stairs, he was confronted by the door which led into the attic, a stout one of oak, he noted. The doors of all the other rooms were of deal, painted and grained. This, however, was heavy, and of oiled oak. After careful examination, he came to the conclusion that the particular door was much more modern than the others, and the circular brass keyhole of the Yale latch gave it the appearance of the front door of a house, rather than that of a room. Some strange secret, no doubt, lay behind that locked door. If it had an occupant he would, in all probability, have a light, therefore he switched off his torch and tried to discover any ray of light shining through a crack. Carefully he went around the whole door, until he drew away the mat before it, when, sure enough, _a light showed from within_!