was
the window of the room they had forced on the previous day. In general,
Melrose possessed some rough record of the contents of the locked rooms,
and their labelled keys; but in this case both record and label had been
lost. A small amount of violence, however, had sufficed to open the
half-rotten door. Inside--thick darkness, save for one faint gleam
through a dilapidated shutter. As Faversham advanced, groping into the
room, there was a sudden scurry of mice, and a sudden flapping of
something in a corner, which turned out to be a couple of bats. When he
made for the window, dense cobwebs brushed against his face, and half the
shutter on which he laid his hand came away at his touch and lay in
fragments at his feet. The rain had come in for twenty years through a
broken pane, and had completely rotted the wood. Strange noises in the
chimney showed that owls had built there; and as the shutter fell a
hideous nest of earwigs was disturbed, and ran hither and thither over
the floor.

And when Faversham turned to look at the contents of the room, he saw
Melrose in his skullcap, poking about among a medley of black objects on
the floor and in a open cupboard, his withered cheeks ghastly in the
sudden daylight.

"What are they?" asked Faversham, wondering.

"Silver," was the sharp reply. "Some of the finest things known."

And from the filthy cupboard Melrose's shaking hand had drawn out a ewer
and basin, whence some ragged coverings fell away. It was almost entirely
black; but the exquisite work of it--the spiral fluting of the ewer, its
shell-like cover, the winged dragon on the handle, and, round the oval
basin, the rim of chasing dolphins, could still be seen.

"That came from the Wolfgang sale--I gave six hundred for it. It's
worth six thousand now--you can't find such a piece anywhere. Ah! by
George!"--with a stifled shout--"and that's the Demidoff tazza!"--as
Faversham lifted up a thing lying in a half-open box that might have been
ebony--a shallow cup on a stem, with a young vine-crowned Bacchus for a
handle. Melrose took it eagerly, put up his eyeglass, and, rubbing away
with his handkerchief, searched for the mark. "There it is!--a Caduceus
and 1620. And the signature--see!--'A.D. Viana.' There was a cup signed
by Viana sold last week at Christie's--fetched a fabulous sum! Every
single thing in this room is worth treble and quadruple what I gave for
it. Talk of investments! There are no such investments as