My visit to the Nuns' Tower made me anxious to learn whether the artist had returned. I questioned some of the servants on this point, but none of them had seen Angelo since the morning, so I was forced to the conclusion that I had been mistaken in supposing any one to have been in the tower. On repairing to the library I found my uncle and the Baronet discussing the technicalities of some Parliamentary Bill of the past session, a topic that was speedily cut short by the entrance of Fruin, the butler, who carried under his arm an artist's portfolio filled with papers and sketches. "What have you there, Fruin?" said the Baronet. "A portfolio, Sir Hugh. I found it hidden under some leaves in one of the vases on the West Terrace." "A queer hiding-place for it," remarked the Baronet, taking the portfolio and examining it. "How came it there, I wonder. Vasari's, of course. He was showing the ladies some sketches this morning before breakfast, and suddenly closed the portfolio and would not allow them to see any more. He said they must be tired of them, but Florrie declared he had shut it up because there was something he did not want her to see, and she seized the portfolio and ran off with it. I suppose she must have hidden it where you found it, Fruin. Thank you for bringing it here." The butler withdrew, and the Baronet pushed the portfolio over to me. "Here you are, Frank," he said, "if you are interested in Vasari's sketches." "Not at all," I replied carelessly, and then a thought struck me. "Stop, though! You say Vasari would not let all of them be seen. More secrecy. What's the game this time? Let me try to find out." I drew a chair to the table and began to examine the contents of the portfolio. They consisted of sketches--ink, pencil, and crayon--in every stage of execution, some being unfinished outlines, and others finished to perfection. They embraced a vast variety of subjects--single objects, landscapes, sketches for historical pieces, and copies of statuary from the antique. Like a detective seeking for evidence I examined each sketch suspiciously, holding it near the light and turning it over to see whether there was any mark or writing on the back. I came at last to twelve sketches of different heads, and unfastening the tape that kept them together, I laid them out on the table and drew my uncle's attention to them. "You see these twelve heads? They have been in this portfolio a year, for Vasari showed them to me last Christmas and asked me whether I recognised any of them. As a fact I did not, but I fancied at the time he had an interested motive for the question, and now I am pretty certain he had." My uncle looked at them carefully. "You don't see a likeness to any one you know?" "No," I replied. "Try again." There was one face that seemed familiar. It was that of a man about thirty years of age, but the head was quite bald, and the face destitute of beard and moustache.