lightful England of yours. But that is not the mission
upon which I come. I have to thank you, sir, for the great kindness and
consideration you displayed to my niece yesterday."

His English was excellent, and he spoke with the clipped, careful accent
of the foreigner, which Merriton found fascinating. He had already
succumbed to something of the same thing in Antoinette. He was beginning
to enjoy himself very much indeed.

"There was no need for thanks--none at all.... What is your opinion of
the Towers, Miss Brellier?" he asked suddenly, leaning forward toward
her, anxious to change the conversation.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"That is hardly a fair question to ask!" she responded, "when I have been
in it but a matter of five minutes or more. But everything to me is
enchanting! The architecture, the furnishings, the very atmosphere--"

"Brrh! If you could have been here last night!" He gave a mock shudder
and broke it with a laugh. "Why, a truly haunted house wasn't a patch on
it! If this place hasn't got a ghost, well then I'll eat my hat! I could
fairly hear 'em, dozens and dozens of them, clinking and clanking all
over the place. And if you could see my room! I sleep in a four-poster as
big as a suburban villa, and every now and again the furniture gives a
comfy little crack or two, like someone practising with a pistol, just to
remind me that my great-great-great-grandmother's ghost is sitting in the
wardrobe and watching over me with true great-etc.-grandmotherly
conscientiousness.... I say, do you ride? There ought to be some rippin'
rides round here, if my memory doesn't fail me."

She nodded, and the conversation took a turn that Sir Nigel found more
than pleasant, and the time passed most agreeably.

Merriton, only anxious to entertain his guests, suddenly exploded the
bomb which shattered that afternoon's enjoyment for all three of them.

"By the way," he remarked, "last night, while I was lying awake I saw
a lot of funny flames dancing up and down upon the horizon. Seemed as
though they lay in the marshes between your place and mine, Mr. Brellier.
Borkins pulled a long story about 'em with all the usual trimmin's. Said
they were supernatural and all that. Ever seen 'em yourself? I must say
they gave me a bit of a turn. I'm not keen on spirits--except in bottle
form (which by the way is a rotten bad pun, Miss Brellier,) but in India
one gets chockful of that sort of thing, and there never seems to