"With all my heart, and his creed too," said my uncle cheerfully. "But I have no doubt the other, more valuable, book will turn up all right soon."
"I sincerely hope it will," Sir Hugh replied, scrutinising every part of the bookcase as if he thought the volume were deliberately hiding from him. "At any rate, it isn't here now," and giving up the search in disgust he walked to the fireplace and flung himself into a chair, looking exceedingly annoyed. "It looks like a case of theft, but I can't for the life of me see why a thief should choose that particular book. He would only give himself away if he tried to make money by selling it. No one in the Abbey would have taken it; people don't pick locks to get what they have only to ask for, and every one here knows I have no objection to lending my books." And for some time he smoked in moody silence, uninterrupted by any remark from us.
"By the way," he said presently, "I shall shortly have the pleasure of introducing you to a genius. I'm waiting up for him now. He is coming by the last train."
"Who is the genius?" my uncle inquired with a smile.
"That Italian artist whose picture 'The Fall of Cæsar' made such a sensation in Paris last spring."
I was so surprised that I knocked over a branched candlestick by my side and nearly set the tablecloth on fire.
"You must have heard of him," said Sir Hugh, carefully replacing the candlestick.
"Oh, yes, we have heard of him," said my uncle, looking at me.
Sir Hugh did not appear to notice the meaning way in which my uncle spoke.
"He is spending Christmas here," said Sir Hugh. "In fact he has been living at the Abbey for the last two months. He went to London this week to get some artistic material. He is painting a picture for me.