Roger Monk opened the door to him. Wolf could see at once that something unusual was in the wind. The eye of the man “from the Shires” was hunted and startled.

“What’s wrong, Roger? Has anything happened?” He put all the nonchalance he could muster into this question, but in his heart he felt discomfortable misgivings. Roger Monk carefully and gravely bolted the great door. He had the air of a man who bars out an army of enemies.

“He’s up there with him. He’s been giving him a bottle of that Malmsey, same as he gave you, Sir, but I don’t like it when he drinks with any strange party, saving of course yourself and his lordship.”

“Who’s with him? Who are you talking about?” enquired Wolf.

Mr. Monk bent his head down a little, so as to bring his face nearer to his interlocutor.