ld
of Hetzendorf. Gabrielle Heyburn was Murie's friend. Therefore he
resolved to say no more.

Gabrielle Heyburn!

CHAPTER XXX

REVEALS SOMETHING TO HAMILTON

Edgar Hamilton sat with his eyes fixed upon the dingy, inartistic,
smoke-begrimed windows of the chambers opposite. The man before him was
acquainted with Gabrielle Heyburn! For over a year he had not been in
London. He recollected the last occasion--recollected it, alas! only too
well. His thin countenance wore a puzzled, anxious expression, the
expression of a man face to face with a great difficulty.

"Tell me, Walter," he said at last, "what kind of place is Glencardine
Castle? What kind of man is Sir Henry Heyburn?"

"Glencardine is one of the most beautiful estates in Scotland. It lies
between Perth and Stirling. The ruins of the ancient castle, where the
great Marquis of Glencardine, who was such a figure in Scottish history,
was born, stands perched up above a deep, delightful glen; and some
little distance off stands the modern house, built in great part from
the ruins of the stronghold."

"And there are noises heard there the same as at Hetzendorf, you say?"

"Well, the countryfolk believe that, on certain nights, there can be
heard in the castle courtyard distinct whispering--the counsel of the
devil himself to certain conspirators who took the life of the notorious
Cardinal Setoun."

"Has any one actually heard them?"

"They say so--or, at any rate, several persons after declaring that they
had heard them have died quite suddenly."

Hamilton pursed his lips. "Well," he exclaimed, "that's really most
remarkable! Practically, the same legend is current in South Hungary
regarding Hetzendorf. Strange--very strange!"

"Very," remarked the heir to the great estate of Connachan. "But, after
all, cannot one very often trace the same legend through the folklore of
various countries? I remember I once attended a lecture upon that very
interesting subject."

"Oh, of course. Many ancient legends have sprung from the same germ, so
that often we have practically the same fairy-story all over Europe. But
this, it seems to me, is no fairy story."

"Well," laughed Murie, "the history of Glencardine Castle and the
historic family is so full of stirring episodes that I really don't
wonder that the ruins are believed to be the abode of something
supernatural. My father possesses some of the family papers, while Sir
Henry, when he bought Glencardine,