vington, "as I don't wish to repeat my story twice. Still, as you are
on the spot, I may as well ask your advice. You may be able to throw
some light on the subject. I'm hanged if I can."

Darby pulled out his notebook. "I am all attention, my lord."

Garvington plunged abruptly into his account, first having looked to see
if the library door was firmly closed. "As there have been many
burglaries lately in this part of the world," he said, speaking with
deliberation, "I got an idea into my head that this house might be
broken into."

"Natural enough, my lord," interposed Darby, glancing round the splendid
room. "A historic house such as this is, would tempt any burglar."

"So I thought," remarked the other, pleased that Darby should agree with
him so promptly. "And I declared several times, within the hearing of
many people, that if a raid was made, I should shoot the first man who
tried to enter. Hang it, an Englishman's house is his castle, and no man
has a right to come in without permission."

"Quite so, my lord. But the punishment of the burglar should be left to
the law," said the inspector softly.

"Oh, the deuce take the law! I prefer to execute my own punishments.
However, to make a long story short, I grew more afraid of a raid when
these gypsies came to camp at Abbot's Wood, as they are just the sort of
scoundrels who would break in and steal."

"Why didn't you order them off your land?" asked the policeman, alertly.

"I did, and then my brother-in-law sent a message through his secretary,
who is staying here, asking me to allow them to remain. I did."

"Why did Sir Hubert send that message, my lord?"

"Hang it, man, that's just what I am trying to learn, and I am the more
puzzled because he came last night dressed as a gypsy."

"He must be one," said Darby, who had seen Pine and now recalled his
dark complexion and jetty eyes. "It seems, from what I have been told,
that he stopped at the Abbot's Wood camp under the name of Ishmael
Hearne."

"So Silver informed me."

"Who is he?"

"Pine's secretary, who knows all his confidential affairs. Silver
declared, when the secret could be kept no longer, that Pine was really
a gypsy, called Ishmael Hearne. Occasionally longing for the old life,
he stepped down from his millionaire pedestal and mixed with his own
people. When he was supposed to be in Paris, he was really with the
gypsies, so you can now understand why he sent the message asking me to
l