“I am willing to take my risk,” Jacob suggested.
The Marquis shook his head.
“You do not know what the risks are,” he answered. “I do. Come and walk outside with me, Mr. Pratt. We have half an hour before we leave. My people were more than ordinarily punctual.”
They strolled down towards the sea. Jacob asked curious questions about the little tower, and the Marquis unfastened a rope which held a flat-bottomed boat.
“I will take you across the channel,” he proposed, “and we will visit it. We have never had a visitor yet who has departed without seeing the keep. As a matter of fact, it is far older than the house, and quite a curiosity of architecture.”
They crossed the tidal channel, the Marquis paddling with slow but graceful strokes. Arrived on the other side, he secured the boat and led the way up a precipitous ledge to a nail-studded door, which he opened with a key from a bunch which he had drawn from his pocket.
“The downstairs rooms are scarcely safe,” he said, “there is so much fallen masonry, but the one I am going to show you is our great pride. You will find our visitors’ book there.”
He preceded his guest up a circular staircase, lit only by some narrow slits in the walls. At the top he opened another door and Jacob stepped into a great bare room. At the further end, through a broad aperture, was a magnificent view of the open sea. Jacob stepped forward to peer out. As he passed across the room, through another aperture, facing landwards, he saw the dogcart driven out of the stable yard, down the avenue, towards the moorland road which led to the station.
“Hullo,” he called out, “isn’t that my carriage over there?”
He turned around. He was alone in the room, and from outside came the ominous sound of the key turning in the lock. He strode towards it and shouted through the grating which was let into the top part of the door.