it."

"Does he always guard the premises in this way?" asked Holmes.

"Yes; he has followed my father's custom. He was the favorite
son, you know, and I sometimes think that my father may have told
him more than he ever told me. That is Bartholomew's window up
there where the moonshine strikes. It is quite bright, but there
is no light from within, I think."

"None," said Holmes. "But I see the glint of a light in that
little window beside the door."

"Ah, that is the housekeeper's room. That is where old Mrs.
Bernstone sits. She can tell us all about it. But perhaps you
would not mind waiting here for a minute or two, for if we all go
in together and she has no word of our coming she may be alarmed.
But hush! what is that?"

He held up the lantern, and his hand shook until the circles of
light flickered and wavered all round us. Miss Morstan seized my
wrist, and we all stood with thumping hearts, straining our ears.
From the great black house there sounded through the silent night
the saddest and most pitiful of sounds,--the shrill, broken
whimpering of a frightened woman.

"It is Mrs. Bernstone," said Sholto. "She is the only woman in
the house. Wait here. I shall be back in a moment." He hurried
for the door, and knocked in his peculiar way. We could see a
tall old woman admit him, and sway with pleasure at the very