e notice. Here I paused to
consider what I had learned.

The most notable thing was this: only one wing of Friar's Park--that
remote from the tower--exhibited any evidence of occupation, indeed of
being habitable at all. In other words, the greater part of the
building was no more than a majestic ruin. Eyeless windows there were
and crumbling arches, whilst the chapel which had looked so
picturesque from a distance proved on closer inspection to be a mere
shell. A dense shrubbery grew right up to the walls of the east wing,
that which was terminated by the tower, and I had been enabled to peer
right in at the window of the chapel and out at a window at the other
side; for the place was roofless and its floor carpeted with weeds. I
could not help wondering how much of this decay dated from the days of
Sir Burnham, for certainly I could not reconcile it with the character
of the man as depicted by the local people.

My inquiry then was considerably narrowed down, for of the habitable
apartments of Friar's Park I had only been enabled to count seven or
eight, although two of these appeared to be of great extent, one of
them, I fancy, being the old refectory of the monastery. My next
discovery was this: that the likeliest point of entry to the house was
afforded by either one of two French windows which opened upon a small
lawn some twenty yards beyond the drive. But in order to approach them
I should have to expose myself in the brilliant moonlight which bathed
that side of the house.

I stood there listening intently, and wondering if I dared attempt the
venture. Not a sound could I detect, however, and the night was so
still that scarce a leaf stirred about me. I determined upon the
plunge; and walking boldly forward, I approached the more easterly of
the two windows.

Three stone steps led up to it and linen blinds were drawn down
within, but strengthened by the memory of the inn door which was
"never locked," and hoping that the same trustfulness prevailed in
Friar's Park, I turned the handle whose brassy glitter I had
previously perceived from the corner of the shrubbery.

It operated smoothly, and upon giving a gentle push the window opened
and I found myself standing upon a polished oak floor. I stood
stock-still, listening; but there was never a sound; and partly
reclosing the window, I pressed the button of my electric torch and
looked about me.

I stood in a long lofty room which I supposed to have been a