At last a door in the upper regions opened and shut, and Richard came down the stairs. He was white as chalk, staggering like a man dizzy or blind, and a cold sweat stood in beads on his forehead, as happened after the scrying of the day before.

Lindsay sprang forward to meet him, and propped him with a hand under his arm. He leaned against the wall, and gasped out:

"It's all over—I've refused—you were right to refuse too. The thing he asks is impossible. This house is full of devils—of devils, I tell you—and they come out of Quinton's crystal. He made me look again—against my will, and I saw—what I can't speak of—what I never can forget--!"

"Come into the dining-room with me, and I'll give you a dram. You have been upset; you may think differently when you are calm."

"No—no. Never this place for me. He is beyond reason: he is given over to the fiend. I told him I would thank him for ever for just Quinton Court and a farm, but he would not part the property. It had to be all or nothing. And not even to gain Quinton Court would I be owner here. No, I'll have no dram. I want to get away."

The car was now heard coming round, and drawing up at the door.

"Goodbye, Lindsay, and thank you for your kindness. We may never meet again, but I shall not forget."

These were last words, and the next moment he was shut in and speeding away, the open gates with their watchful faces left behind.

V

Richard reached London only to fall ill. The doctor diagnosed influenza, but seemed to think his system had received a shock: as to this he was not communicative. He had a week in bed, and another of tardy convalescence, a prey to depression and all the ills resulting from exhaustion. A fortnight had gone by since he left Mount Verney, when he received a communication from Fryer and Fryer asking for an interview. Mr. Fryer wished to see Mr. Richard Quinton on a matter of business, and would be obliged if he could make it convenient to call.

"I ought to have written to the old bird, to tell him I am out of the running," was Richard's comment, spoken to himself. "But, as I have been remiss, I had better go and hear what he has to say. I shall have to take a taxi."

He had no strength left for the walking distance, and even the office stairs were something of a trial. He was shown in at once to Mr, Fryer, and began with an apology.

"I have only just ascertained your address," said the man of law. "Are you aware, Mr. Quinton, that your cousin and late host is dead?"

"Indeed no, sir, I was not aware." And that Richard was shocked by the intelligence was plain to see.

"He died suddenly of heart-failure the night after you left. And, so far as Dr. Lindsay and I can ascertain after a careful search through all his papers, he has left no will."

This communication did not seem to inform Richard; he was still too dazed by what he had just heard.

Mr. Fryer tapped the blotting-pad before him, which was a way he had when irritated.

"You don't realise what that means? The whole property goes to you, both real estate and personal. Mount Verney, and all that it contains." Richard gave a cry, which sounded more like horror than elation.

"You are telling me—that I am the owner of Mount Verney?"

"If no will is discovered later, certainly you are the owner."

"And does this bind me to live there? Because I cannot—I will not.