ed that
the boast had been a vain one.

If anyone was in the studio it might be as well if, for a few moments at
least, I could see without being seen or heard. I therefore went about
my preparations as quietly as possible.

I dragged the rustic seat across the grass and set it in an angle
between the tower and the low building of the studio, giving it a
certain slanting inclination, that it might not fall when burdened with
my weight. Then I scrambled up, not venturing to pause for an instant at
the top, for I could feel that the thing was slowly beginning to slide
from under me.

With a leap I caught the ledge of stone that ran round the roof, and
setting my knee against the wall, helped myself up. It may read simply
enough when written down in black and white, but it was rather a
difficult task in the accomplishment, and I felt that I had reason to
congratulate myself on my own success when it was done.

Framed in a margin of dark roof eight to ten feet in width was the
skylight, through which penetrated a subdued radiance.

Cautiously, noiselessly, I crawled to the round bubble of glass and
looked down. A curtain of embroidered Indian silk was drawn half across,
but through the open space that was left I could see something of the
interior.

The jewelled lamp which I had previously observed hanging from the
centre alone illumined the octagonal room. Now that I was on the roof I
was able to appreciate more than ever the smallness of the studio. There
was space for a wide passage running all the way round, between the
inner walls and the outer walls. I suspected method in this design--a
secret which Wildred had cleverly contrived to hide, and which, in
conjunction with the mystery of the tower, might account for much that
had been dark before.

As I looked a figure passed into my line of vision. It was Wildred
walking restlessly up and down with his hands behind him. I could hear
the murmur of his voice, though through the glass of the skylight the
words were not distinguishable.

Suddenly there came a sharp exclamation in a woman's voice, and my heart
gave a responsive bound. Wildred was talking to Karine, and it was she
who had answered him with a cry.

I had not expected, when I decided upon trying to enter like a burglar
through the skylight, that Karine would be in the studio. It would
doubtless frighten her very much if I should suddenly make my appearance
beside her amid a shower of broken glass, an