he Strathmore estate,
and, roaming abroad one afternoon, in a fit of absent-mindedness
entered the castle grounds. It so happened--fortunately for him--that
the family were away, and he encountered no one more formidable than a
man he took to be a gardener, an uncouth-looking fellow, with a huge
head covered with a mass of red hair, hawk-like features, and high
cheek-bones, high even for a Scot. Struck with the appearance of the
individual, Mr. Vance spoke, and, finding him wonderfully civil, asked
whether, by any chance, he ever came across any fossils, when digging
in the gardens.

"I dinna ken the meaning of fossils," the man replied. "What are
they?"

Mr. Vance explained, and a look of cunning gradually pervaded the
fellow's features. "No!" he said, "I've never found any of those
things, but if you'll give me your word to say nothing about it, I'll
show you something I once dug up over yonder by the Square Tower."

"Do you mean the Haunted Tower?--the Tower that is supposed to contain
the secret room?" Mr. Vance exclaimed.

An extraordinary expression--an expression such as Mr. Vance found it
impossible to analyse--came into the man's eyes. "Yes! that's it!" he
nodded. "What people call--and rightly call--the Haunted Tower. I got
it from there. But don't you say naught about it!"

Mr. Vance, whose curiosity was roused, promised, and the man, politely
requesting him to follow, led the way to a cottage that stood near by,
in the heart of a gloomy wood. To Mr. Vance's astonishment the
treasure proved to be the skeleton of a hand--a hand with abnormally
large knuckles, and the first joint--of both fingers and thumb--much
shorter than the others. It was the most extraordinarily shaped hand
Mr. Vance had ever seen, and he did not know in the least how to
classify it. It repelled, yet interested him, and he eventually
offered the man a good sum to allow him to keep it. To his
astonishment the money was refused. "You may have the thing, and
welcome," the fellow said. "Only, I advise you not to look at it late
at night; or just before getting into bed. If you do, you may have bad
dreams."

"I will take my chance of that!" Mr. Vance laughed. "You see, being a
hard-headed cockney, I am not superstitious. It is only you
Highlanders, and your first cousins the Irish, who believe nowadays in
bogles, omens, and such-like"; and, packing the hand carefully in his
knapsack, Mr. Vance bid the strange-looking creature good morn