ly. "Sir Henry scouts the idea of the
Whispers being heard at Glencardine," he said.

"And, strangely enough, so does the Baron. He's a most matter-of-fact
man."

"How curious that the cases are almost parallel, and yet so far apart!
The Baron has a daughter, and so has Sir Henry."

"Gabrielle is at Glencardine, I suppose?" asked Hamilton.

"No, she's living with a maiden aunt at an out-of-the-world village in
Northamptonshire called Woodnewton."

"Oh, I thought she always lived at Glencardine, and acted as her
father's right hand."

"She did until a few months ago, when----" and he paused. "Well," he
went on, "I don't know exactly what occurred, except that she left
suddenly, and has not since returned."

"Her mother, perhaps. No girl of spirit gets on well with her
stepmother."

"Possibly that," Walter said. He knew the truth, but had no desire to
tell even his old friend of the allegation against the girl whom he
loved.

Hamilton noted the name of the village, and sat wondering at what the
young barrister had just told him. It had aroused suspicions within
him--strange suspicions.

They sat together for another half-hour, and before they parted arranged
to lunch together at the Savoy in two days' time.

Turning out of the Temple, Edgar Hamilton walked along the Strand to the
Metropole, in Northumberland Avenue, where he was staying. His mind was
full of what his friend had said--full of that curious legend of
Glencardine which coincided so strangely with that of far-off
Hetzendorf. The jostling crowd in the busy London thoroughfare he did
not see. He was away again on the hill outside the old-fashioned
Hungarian town, with the broad Danube shining in the white moonbeams. He
saw the grim walls that had for centuries withstood the brunt of battle
with the Turks, and from them came the whispering voice--the voice said
to be that of the Evil One. The Tziganes--that brown-faced race of gipsy
wanderers, the women with their bright-coloured skirts and head-dresses,
and the men with the wonderful old silver filigree buttons upon their
coats---had related to him many weird stories regarding Hetzendorf and
the meaning of those whispers. Yet none of their stories was so curious
as that which Murie had just told him. Similar sounds were actually
heard in the old castle up in the Highlands! His thoughts were wholly
absorbed in that one extraordinary fact.

He went to the smoking-room of the hotel, and, obtaining a