"It is inside that tower," replied the Baronet confidently. "Why there? Why in existence at all? If he is so anxious, as you say, to prevent us from seeing it, the safe plan would be to destroy it altogether." "That would be the course of a wise man--yes; but Angelo is a fond parent, you see; his picture is his favourite child, and he cannot bring himself to destroy it. Perhaps he intends after your departure to return it to me uninjured, concocting some cock-and-bull story as to where he found it. I trust to goodness he will do something of the kind," continued the Baronet. "So valuable a thing is no trifle to lose. If I could obtain proof that he _has_ taken it, I would certainly bring him to book before the law." "Can't we search the tower?" I said; "Angelo is absent." "Exactly; but he takes care to lock the door every time he leaves it." "Have you no other keys that will fit the lock?" "The key of that lock has peculiar wards. There is no other like it in my possession." "Well, let us go to the tower," I said. "He may for once have left the door unlocked--who knows?" "Not very likely, but we may try." The tower, octagonal in shape, was situated at a little distance from the main body of the Abbey, to which it was joined by a covered walk consisting of a wall on one side and a row of pillars on the other. It contained but one story, lighted by a large Gothic casement twelve feet at least from the ground. Access was gained to the tower by a flight of steps surmounted by an oaken door studded with iron nails. "The Nuns' Tower," I murmured, as we walked down the cloister; "how came the place to receive that name?" "Tradition says that when this place was a convent, nuns who broke their vow of virginity were tried in this tower by their ecclesiastical superiors--or, if you will, inferiors--and were led hence by a subterranean passage to their doom." "Which was----?" "Precipitation down a deep chasm. The book I spoke of last night--a book I firmly believe to have been stolen, and not mislaid--will tell you more about those dark days than I can." On reaching the foot of the steps leading to the tower, we mounted them, and, having tried the door, found it locked. "It would have been strange, indeed," smiled the Baronet, "if Angelo had left his studio accessible." Bending down I applied my eye to the keyhole. "What do you see?" asked my uncle. "It's impossible to see anything," I returned. Something dark within--it may have been a folding screen, the back of a chair, any piece of furniture, in fact--standing immediately behind the keyhole, prevented me from obtaining a glimpse of the interior. "A cold cell to paint in during the depth of winter," remarked my uncle. "Does he work without a fire?"