"Well, thank Heaven you are safe!" exclaimed my uncle fervently; "though more by your own efforts than by ours," he added.
"Have you only just returned from the magistrate's?" I asked him.
There is a good deal of ingratitude in human nature, and even in the first joy of my deliverance I felt a disposition to reproach my uncle for what I considered a very tardy rescue, totally forgetful of the fact that if my rescuers had appeared earlier on the scene there would have been an end of me, for the artist at sight of them would have effected his deadly purpose without my being able to offer any resistance.
"Yes, we have only just returned," he answered, understanding the motive of my question. "Everything that possibly could went wrong. The carriage broke down half way from the Manse, and when we set off to finish the journey on foot we missed our way on the moors and were a long time in finding it again. When we did reach the Abbey and did not see you about we guessed where you were and came at once to the tower. We heard enough to assure us that something very serious was the matter, and as we could not hope to make our way in empty handed we ran back for—"
He was interrupted by a shout coming from outside of the cell, and turning quickly I saw that the slab had been lifted up revealing a stairway beneath.
"Turn your lantern down here, Wilson," cried the Baronet excitedly, "and lead the way. Look sharp, or he'll escape after all."
The constable obediently went down the opening, followed by Sir Hugh, my uncle and two or three other men. Thinking that I had as good a right as any to join the pursuit, I rose with the intention of following them, but at Daphne's entreaty, I forbore, and, leaving the cell, we both walked across the lawn to the Abbey, all unconscious of the tragedy that was happening under our very feet.
For the steps down which the artist had fled opened into a stone passage, the walls of which were dripping with moisture and stained with horrid fungi. At the foot of the steps Sir Hugh came upon a recess, where they found a grey cloak, and a gentleman's dress suit. The Baronet, with a look of inquiry on his face, pointed out these things to my uncle.
"Yes," said my uncle, "those are his clothes right enough. They are what he wore the last time we saw him alive. It is clear that Vasari murdered him that night, and he has kept these clothes by him ever since. Look," he went on, "this is where he was stabbed," and he pointed to a cut in the back of the coat. As he was handling the garment something bright fell from the breast pocket, and stooping to pick it up he recognised the ring which Daphne had thrown into the well at Rivoli.