“Not for absolutely certain,” answered his host. “But I have no doubt in my own mind that it was the truth. Apparently this house, at the time when the man and woman died, belonged to a man called Shaw. And Mrs. Shaw was a very lovely lady—a fact which other men beside Mr. Shaw appreciated. Moreover, it appeared that Mrs. Shaw was not insensible to the admiration of those other men—especially to that of a young Lord Greyton. Possibly she was flattered by the attentions of a member of the aristocracy, since her husband, though an eminently worthy man, was distinctly middle-class. At any rate, she and Lord Greyton disappeared, and were never heard of again. Mr. Shaw gave out that his wife had eloped with him, and forbade her name ever to be mentioned in his presence again. But I think there can be little doubt that somehow or other he trapped them both into the room at the top of the tower, and then proceeded to brick them in. The details, of course, will never be known. Presumably he must have drugged them first, leaving them to regain consciousness in the black darkness—because there were no windows of any sort in the tower. One thing is certain: they were not dead when they were put there. The marks are plainly visible where they had endeavoured to scratch away the brickwork with their fingers.” “What an extraordinarily gruesome story!” said Denver. “Why, Mrs. Garling—you’ve gone quite pale.” “I think it’s a horrible story,” she said, in a low voice. “Horrible—and yet full of poetic justice,” remarked her husband, sipping his port. “And what do you use the tower for now?” asked Denver. “My father, who was a keen astronomer, had it made into a small observatory. I’ve left it much as it was, except that I’ve removed the telescope and carried out a few small improvements. In fact, the workmen have only just finished. My father, for instance, had a sliding roof; I’ve had that removed. There is now merely a small dome with thick glass at the top, through which one can get a gay wonderful view of the heavens.” He glanced at Denver’s glass. “Some more port? No. Well—would you care to come and see the actual room itself? And I particularly want you, my dear, to see it by artificial light.” He turned to his wife. “I think you’ll agree that it’s an immense improvement. In fact, I’m seriously thinking of using it in future as my study. It’s small, of course—in fact, tiny. But it’s so far removed from any noise or disturbance. And I find, Denver, that I can concentrate better in a confined space.” He was leading the way along an upstair corridor as he talked. “I am a bit of a recluse, and I write a little. Dull, scientific stuff. And I really believe that in this room I have got my ideal working room.” He had reached the top of the stairs in the tower and opened the door. “Quaint, isn’t it? Those Chinese hangings round the walls give it a cosy effect. And then this door—sound-proof. I cannot hear any noise when I’m at work.”