"Not very likely, but we may try."
The tower, octagonal in shape, was situated at a little distance from the main body of the Abbey, to which it was joined by a covered walk consisting of a wall on one side and a row of pillars on the other. It contained but one story, lighted by a large Gothic casement twelve feet at least from the ground. Access was gained to the tower by a flight of steps surmounted by an oaken door studded with iron nails.
"The Nuns' Tower," I murmured, as we walked down the cloister; "how came the place to receive that name?"
"Tradition says that when this place was a convent, nuns who broke their vow of virginity were tried in this tower by their ecclesiastical superiors—or, if you will, inferiors—and were led hence by a subterranean passage to their doom."
"Which was——?"
"Precipitation down a deep chasm. The book I spoke of last night—a book I firmly believe to have been stolen, and not mislaid—will tell you more about those dark days than I can."
On reaching the foot of the steps leading to the tower, we mounted them, and, having tried the door, found it locked.
"It would have been strange, indeed," smiled the Baronet, "if Angelo had left his studio accessible."
Bending down I applied my eye to the keyhole.
"What do you see?" asked my uncle.