"It would have taken me some minutes to reach your room, Sir Hugh, and by that time the thing might have gone, and a pretty fool I should have looked at having called you up for nothing. Well, as I was saying, I crept downstairs and stood outside that door. I had the keys in my hand, but I don't mind confessing I was afraid to enter. A man, a burglar, anything in human shape I'll face, but this on the other side of the door was a different matter. I listened and heard steps moving softly to and fro----" "Was there more than one person, do you think?" "I can't say, Sir Hugh. I thought at first there was only one; afterwards I thought there were two." "What made you think there were two?" "I am coming to it, Sir Hugh. As I was saying, I listened, and could hear footsteps. After a time they ceased, and there came sounds as if two persons were whispering together, but it may only have been one person talking to himself. Then there was a long silence, and at last there came a cry--such a cry! My blood ran cold to hear it. I dropped on one knee, and peered through the keyhole, a thing which, strangely enough, I hadn't thought of doing before, and there--and there----" Here the butler paused as if conscious that his next item was a little too extravagant for belief. "Well, go on. You saw----?" "Mr. Vasari's picture was hanging in its usual place there," pointing to the black panel, "but," and the speaker dropped his voice to an awed whisper, "lying on the floor was a figure--the moonlight was shining clear upon it--a figure in a long cloak, a grey cloak. I jumped to my feet at once. 'Good God! there's a murder been done!' I thought. I forgot my fright in the desire to see if I could give the poor fellow any help. I unlocked the door, flung it open, and--" He paused once more. "The picture was still there, but the figure was gone. I came a little way into the gallery, but I could see nobody. Then all my fright returned. 'It must have been a ghost,' I thought. I dared not stay any longer, and I bolted off to bed as quick as my legs could carry me. For a long time I lay awake, but I heard nothing more." I offered a chair to Daphne, for she seemed on the point of fainting. The mention of a figure in a grey cloak had revived all the memories of that night by the haunted well. Strange as Fruin's story was, it was told in a way that made it impossible to dismiss it with a sneer. Sir Hugh seemed to feel this; seemed, too, to be angry with himself for feeling it. He looked in silence at his guests, whose faces reflected his own uneasiness. The empty space on the wall was a disquieting fact. "Your story," he said, "does not explain in the least how the picture comes to be missing." Turning to the other servants, he continued: