"Then don't, but—stay! There was another passage leading from a room under the barn which as yet I have not explored. In this the Thug was probably hiding when I passed the entrance, and, attracted by the light I struck, followed and sprang upon me from behind. That passage may, for all I know, end in the Manse itself."
"Rest assured that such is the case," replied Meadows; and he added, "I should not be surprised if you were to find that that other passage led into the Squire's bedroom!"
Laurence gasped. If so, the affair was well-nigh solved. The thought of the mystery reminded the young man that here he was conversing amicably with the "doctor" in the very basement which he believed to contain the old gentleman's secret.
"Now," said Laurence, laying his hand on Meadows' arm, "tell me your secret and there will no longer be any mystery."
"No, no," cried the old man; "go away. You take advantage of my kindness. I have cleared up the mystery of your father's enemy as far as I am permitted to do so, and you treat me so. But," he said slowly, "in a day or two I may be able to tell you all. Then I will renew my acquaintance with your father, Major Harold Lester Carrington, late of Madras. Until then I can do nothing."
So saying, and in spite of his protests, Laurence was conducted by the "doctor" to the front door of the old house. As the door closed upon him, after he had bidden Meadows a more or less cordial farewell, he fancied he heard another cry from the lower part of the house of strange secrets. This time he thought the weird sound seemed less awe-inspiring, more pathetic, than before. And it was so low that the listener could not be sure whether his imagination had played a trick upon him, or if what he fancied he had heard was reality.
With his head throbbing with the sickly pains caused by his injury, he turned and hurried away to the Manse.
Lena met him in the hall. She was deadly pale. At the sight of her lover she sprang forward, and, unconscious of the fact that Mrs. Knox was peering inquisitively over the banisters, flung her arms round his neck.
"Oh, thank God," she cried almost hysterically, "that you are safe! I thought you were killed. I had a presentiment that 'it' had attacked and murdered you in the dark loft. Where have you been; why were you away so long?"
And then, suddenly realising how forward she had been, she darted back as quickly as she had come. It was not because her aunt made her presence known by clearing her throat with unnecessary vehemence, but because she remembered that she had not yet confessed her love for Laurence, and because it seemed to her that her anxiety for his safety had triumphed over her natural modesty.