"They, of course, sympathise with him, poor old gentleman, because he's blind. His is, indeed, a terrible affliction. Only fancy the change from a brilliant Parliamentary career to idleness, darkness, and knitting."
"I suppose he's very wealthy?"
"He must be. The price he paid for Glencardine was a very heavy one; and, besides that, he has two other places, as well as a house in Park Street and a villa at San Remo."
"Cotton, or steel, or soap, or some other domestic necessity, I suppose?"
Murie shrugged his shoulders. "Nobody knows," he answered. "The source of Sir Henry's vast wealth is a profound mystery."
His friend smiled, but said nothing. Walter Murie had risen to obtain matches, therefore he did not notice the curious expression upon his friend's face, a look which betrayed that he knew more than he intended to tell.
"Those noises heard in the castle puzzle me," he remarked after a few moments.
"At Glencardine they are known as the Whispers," Murie remarked.
"By Jove! I'd like to hear them."
"I don't think there'd be much chance of that, old chap," laughed the other. "They're only heard by those doomed to an early death."