When Kenneth Fortescue had rung the bell which hung in front of the carved stone portico the door of the Castle was opened by a footman, to whom he handed his card, which bore his name and the name of the insurance company of which he was the representative.
"The Earl is expecting me, I believe," he said.
He was shown into a room not far from the entrance hall, in which the Earl was accustomed to transact his business. Here he found a gentleman of about his own age, sitting at a writing-table, and hard at work, with a voluminous correspondence spread out before him. He bowed as Fortescue entered, asked him to be seated, and told him that Mr. Montague Jones would arrive shortly.
"This is Lord Derwentwater's secretary, I suppose," said Fortescue to himself, as he watched his companion sorting and filing the letters with which the writing-table was covered. "But who in the world can Mr. Montague Jones be?"
After he had waited about a quarter of an hour, a stout man, with reddish hair, a florid complexion, and gold eye-glasses, made his appearance, and introduced himself as Mr. Montague Jones. He informed Kenneth that he was my lord's agent, and that my lord had requested him to conduct Mr. Fortescue, as the representative of the insurance company, to the scene of the late fire.
Leaving the secretary to continue his labours, Kenneth followed Mr. Montague Jones, as he led the way up a wide flight of stairs to the upper floor of the Castle. So far he had seen no sign of the destruction wrought by the fire; but, as they went down a long corridor towards the west wing of the building, they came upon the room where the conflagration had begun. Everything was blackened by the smoke and drenched with water; the furniture was either destroyed or completely ruined; the handsome silk hangings of the windows were gone; and a horrible smell of burning and charred wood filled the whole place.
From thence they went into the other rooms in which the fire had raged, and as they entered each Mr. Montague Jones handed him an inventory of the valuable articles which that room had contained; the pictures, china, statuary, pier-glasses, and costly furniture with which it had been filled; the carpet, curtains and elaborate draperies which had covered and adorned it. These rooms were totally wrecked; the flames had spared nothing; the ruin was terrible and complete.
Then the agent led him on to the picture gallery, a long and wide corridor, having windows overlooking the lake in front of the Castle, through which the light fell upon the beautiful works of art which the gallery contained. The fire, however, had only reached one end of this corridor; some of the pictures were altogether unharmed, whilst others were merely discoloured by the smoke; but at that end of the gallery which lay nearest to the rooms in which the fire had broken out several large pictures had been totally destroyed, and many others had been hopelessly damaged.
"Portraits, all of them," said Mr. Montague Jones; "of priceless value to the Earl; family portraits that cannot be replaced. This one of the Earl himself, painted when he was a young man, has only just escaped."
What was it made Kenneth Fortescue start, as he looked up at that picture? What was it that made him deaf to the agent's voice, as he dilated on the Earl's loss?