“If you’re going to town, go by night, and come back by night. I’m not so sure that it won’t be a good idea to stay here after all.”

He got back to London late in the evening and spent the night in a strict examination of his finances. He had dismissed from his mind all thoughts of the Chelford treasure. Mary Wenner had certainly justification for her confidence. He himself had been deceived when he had looked through the grating and seen those cylinders neatly arranged on the stone bench. Who had moved them – the Black Abbot? There must be some explanation for him. But he had his own ideas on the subject, and the moment had not yet arrived when he could test his theory.

The next morning he spent in the City and at Somerset House, examining the will of the late Lady Chelford. Her legacies were set forth in detail, and the character of the shares and stocks with which Arthur Gine had been entrusted were particularised, and John Henry Gine, Arthur’s uncle, named as trustee. A search of the court files failed to reveal any successor to Arthur’s uncle, and apparently no trustee had been appointed, the stocks being left in Arthur’s care. He would, of course, have authority to sell and reinvest, and there would be no trouble if shares of a corresponding value were handed over to Harry Alford’s new solicitors.

Arthur Gline had spent a very busy day in the seclusion of his study. His task was not a pleasant one: he was putting in order the chaos of his affairs, and as the list of his liabilities grew, he himself seemed to grow older.

He had only interrupted his work to lunch with his sister, and Leslie, who thought that the cause of his distress was her vanished fortune, did her best to cheer him. His first act had been to gather on paper the remnants of her vanished quarter of a million, and the remnant was pitiably small, amounting to less than two thousand pounds. He told her this at lunch.

“But that’s really a much larger amount than I expected, Arthur,” she smiled. “We shall be able to live for two years on that.”

It was in his mind to say that he would possibly be living for five years on less, but he wanted to avert that news until it was inevitable that she should know.

At five o’clock she was having tea in solitary state when the maid brought her a card. She had not heard the arrival of the visitor’s motorcar, for the drawing-room was at the back of the house. She took the card and read it.

“I don’t think I want to see this gentleman,” she said. “Will you ask Mr Gine–”

And then she remembered the struggle on the lawn and Arthur’s damaged eye.