ons?"

The nurse could only reply that she had no ideas on the subject, and had
hardly spoken when the sound of wheels outside brought a look of relief
to her face.

"That's the ice," she said, rejoicingly. "We sent for it to Pengarth this
afternoon."

And she fled on light steps to the front door.

"Sent whom? _My_ man--_My_ cart!" growled Melrose, following her, to
verify the outrage with his own eyes. And there indeed at the steps stood
the light cart, the only vehicle which the master of the Tower possessed,
driven by his only outdoor servant, Joe Backhouse, who had succeeded
Dixon as gardener. It was full of packages, which the nurse was eagerly
taking out, comparing them with a list she held in her hand.

"And of course I'm to pay for them!" thought Melrose furiously. No doubt
his credit has been pledged up to the hilt already for this intruder,
this beggar at his gates by these impertinent women. He stood there
watching every packet and bundle with which the nurse was loading her
strong arms, feeling himself the while an utterly persecuted and injured
being, the sport of gods and men; when the sight of a motor turning the
corner of the grass-grown drive, diverted his thoughts.

The doctor--the arch-villain of the plot!

Melrose bethought himself a moment. Then he went along the corridor to
his library, half expecting to see some other invader ensconced in his
own chair. He rang the bell and Dixon hurriedly appeared.

"Show Doctor Undershaw in here."

And standing on the rug, every muscle in his tall and still vigorous
frame tightening in expectation of the foe, he looked frowning round the
chaos of his room. Pictures, with or without frames, and frames without
pictures; books in packing-cases with hinged sides, standing piled one
upon another, some closed and some with the sides open and showing the
books within; portfolios of engravings and drawings; inlaid or ivory
boxes, containing a medley of objects--miniatures, snuff-boxes, buttons,
combs, seals; vases and plates of blue and white Nankin; an Italian
stucco or two; a Renaissance bust in painted wood; fragments of stuff,
cabinets, chairs, and tables of various dates and styles--all were
gathered together in one vast and ugly confusion. It might have been a
_salone_ in one of the big curiosity shops of Rome or Venice, where the
wrecks and sports of centuries are heaped into the _piano nobile_ of
some great building, once a palazzo, now a chain of lum