again I had found myself questing that faint but fugitive memory,
conjured up by the eyes of Madame de Staemer.

Never had the shadow lain so darkly upon the house as it lay this
morning with the sun blazing gladly out of a serene sky. The birds, the
flowers, and Mother Earth herself bespoke the joy of summer. But
beneath the roof of Cray's Folly dwelt a spirit of unrest, of
apprehension. I thought of that queer lull which comes before a
tropical storm, and I thought I read a knowledge of pending evil even
in the glances of the servants.

I had spoken to Harley of this fear. He had smiled and nodded grimly,
saying:

"Evidently, Knox, you have forgotten that to-night is the night of the
full moon."

It was in no easy state of mind, then, that I opened the gate and
walked up to the porch of the Guest House. That the solution of the
grand mystery of Cray's Folly would automatically resolve these lesser
mysteries I felt assured, and I was supported by the idea that a clue
might lie here.

The house, which from the roadway had an air of neglect, proved on
close inspection to be well tended, but of an unprosperous aspect. The
brass knocker, door knob, and letter box were brilliantly polished,
whilst the windows and the window curtains were spotlessly clean. But
the place cried aloud for the service of the decorator, and it did not
need the deductive powers of a Paul Harley to determine that Mr. Colin
Camber was in straitened circumstances.