The flyman got down and tried to open the
other, but could not manage it. "There, don't
waste time," said Alfred impatiently, "let me
out."

He found a notice under the bell, "Ring and
enter." He rang accordingly, and at the clang
the hall-door opened, as if he had pulled a porter
along with the bell; and a grey-haired servant
out of livery stood on the steps to receive him.
Alfred hurried across the plat, which was trimmed
as neatly as a college green, and asked the servant
if he could see Margaret Black.

"Margaret Black?" said the man doubtfully:
"I'll inquire, sir. Please to follow me."

They entered a handsome hall, with antlers
and armour: from this a double staircase led up
to a landing with folding doors in the centre of
it; one of these doors was wide open like the
iron gate outside. The servant showed Alfred
up the left-hand staircase, through the open
door, into a spacious drawing-room, handsomely
though not gaily furnished and decorated; but a
little darkened by Venetian blinds.

The old servant walked gravely on, and on,
till Alfred began to think he would butt the
wall; but he put his hand out and opened a
door, that might very well escape a stranger's
notice; for it was covered with looking-glass, and
matched another narrow mirror in shape and
size: this door led into a very long room, as
plain and even sordid as the drawing-room was
inviting; the unpapered walls were a cold drab,
and wanted washing; there was a thick cobweb
up in one corner, and from the ceiling hung the
tail of another, which the housemaid's broom had
scotched not killed: that side of the room they
entered by was all books. The servant said,
"Stay here a moment, sir, and I'll send her to
you." With this he retired into the drawing-
room, closing the door softly after him: once
closed it became invisible; it fitted like wax,
and left nothing to be seen but books; not even
a knob. It shut to with that gentle but clean
click which a spring bolt, however polished and
oiled and gently closed, will emit. Altogether
it was enough to give some people a turn. But
Alfred's nerves were not to be affected by trifles;
he put his hands in his pockets and walked up
and down the room, quietly enough at first, but
by-and-by uneasily. "Confound her for wasting
my time," thought he; " why doesn't she
come?"

Then, as he had learned to pick up the
fragments of time, and hated dawdling, he went to
take a book from the shelves.

He found it was a piece of iron, admirably
painted: it chilled his hand with its unexpected
coldness: and all the books on and about the
door were iron and chilly.

"Well," thought he, "this is the first dummy
ever took me in. What a fool the man must be!
Why, he could have bought books with ideas in
them for the price of these impostors."

Still Peggy did not come. So he went to a
door opposite, and at right angles to the farthest
window; meaning to open it and inquire after
her: lo and behold he found this was a knob
without a door. There had been a door but it
was blocked up. The only available door on
that side had a keyhole, but no latch, nor
handle.

Alfred was a prisoner.

He no sooner found this out than he began
to hammer on the door with his fists, and call
out.

This had a good effect, for he heard a woman's
dress come rustling: a key was inserted, and the
door opened. But, instead of Peggy, it was a
tall well-formed woman of thirty, with dark
grey eyes, and straightish eyebrows massive and
black as jet. She was dressed quietly but like a
lady. Mrs. Archbold, for that was her name,
cast on Alfred one of those swift, all-devouring
glances, with which her sex contrive to take in
the features, character, and dress of a person
from head to foot; and smiled most graciously
on him, revealing a fine white set of teeth. She
begged him to take a seat; and sat down
herself. She had left the door ajar.

"I came to see Margaret Black," said Alfred.

"Margaret Black? There is no such person
here," was the quiet reply.

"What, has she gone away so early as this?"

Mrs. Archbold smiled, and said soothingly,
"Are you sure she ever existed; except in your
imagination?"

Alfred laughed at this, and showed her Peggy's
letter. She ran her eye over it, and returned it
him with a smile of a different kind, half pitying,
half cynical. But presently resuming her former
manner, "I remember now," said she in dulcet
tones: "the anxiety you are labouring under is
about a large sum of money, is it not?"

"What, can you give me any information
about it?" said he, surprised.

"I think we can render you great service in
the matter, infinite service, Mr. Hardie," was the
reply, in a voice of very honey.

Alfred was amazed at this. "You say you
don't know Peggy! And yet you seem to know
me. I never saw you in my life before, madam;
what on earth is the meaning of all this?"

"Calm yourself," said Mrs. Archbold, laying
a white and finely moulded hand upon his arm,
"there is no wonder nor mystery in the matter:
you were expected."

The colour rushed into Alfred's face, and he
started to his feet: some vague instinct told him
to be gone from this place.

The lady fixed her eyes on him, put her hand
to a gold chain that was round her neck, and
drew out of her white bosom, not a locket, nor
a key, but an ivory whistle; keeping her eye
steadily fixed on Alfred, she breathed softly into
the whistle. Then two men stepped quietly in
at the door; one was a short, stout, snob, with
great red whiskers, the other a wiry gentleman
with iron-grey hair. The latter spoke to Alfred,
and began to coax him. If Mrs. Archbold was
honey, this personage was treacle. "Be calm,