an appeal for sympathy.

Not the least mystery of Cray's Folly was the presence of this girl.
Only toward the end of luncheon had I made up my mind upon a point
which had been puzzling me. Val Beverley's gaiety was a cloak. Once I
had detected her watching Madame de Staemer with a look strangely like
that of fear.

Puffing contentedly at my cigar I proceeded to make a tour of the
house. It was constructed irregularly. Practically the entire building
was of gray stone, which created a depressing effect even in the
blazing sunlight, lending Cray's Folly something of an austere aspect.
There were fine lofty windows, however, to most of the ground-floor
rooms overlooking the lawns, and some of those above had balconies of
the same gray stone. Quite an extensive kitchen garden and a line of
glasshouses adjoined the west wing, and here were outbuildings, coach-
houses and a garage, all connected by a covered passage with the
servants' quarters.

Pursuing my enquiries, I proceeded to the north front of the building,
which was closely hemmed in by trees, and which as we had observed on
our arrival resembled the entrance to a monastery.

Passing the massive oaken door by which we had entered and which was
now closed again, I walked on through the opening in the box hedge into
a part of the grounds which was not so sprucely groomed as the rest. On
one side were the yews flanking the Tudor garden and before me uprose
the famous tower. As I stared up at the square structure, with its
uncurtained windows, I wondered, as others had wondered before me, what
could have ever possessed any man to build it.