had gone on his errand. "Well, master!" he asked, in his half-cynical, half-humorous fashion. "How does this appeal to your artistic sense?"
"A fine setting for a mystery, Mr. Parslewe," I answered.
"I dare say you're right," he said with a laugh. "But I think we shall have done with mysteries to-morrow, my lad. And what mystery there is has been none of my making! Well, I'm off to my bed. Good night."
With that, and a pleasant nod, he went unconcernedly off, and presently I followed his example, more mystified than ever by his last remark. For if he had not made all this mystery, who had?
Whether the mystery was going to be done with next day or not, its atmosphere was still thick upon us next morning. At ten o'clock, Parslewe, who invariably made all his arrangements without consulting anybody who was affected by them, marshalled us into a carriage and pair at the door of the Crown and gave some instructions, aside, to the coachman. We drove off into a singu-
