* * *
Rupert Norris was standing at the door of the castle when Norman Forester went into the courtyard that night to get his can of water. He had picnicked alone on the shore at midday. The Mainwarings had brought tea down to the rocks, and now he was going to get supper in his tent.
"My father does want you to come in, sir," said Rupert. "He has been asking all day why you never come near us, and supper is just ready. You enjoy must enjoy my wife Mary's rabbit stew."
Forester did not like to refuse, nor indeed could he resist the attraction of the savoury smell that greeted him in the doorway. Tinned meat is all very well when he could get nothing else, but it didn't bear comparison with rabbit stew, especially when made by such a good cook as Mrs. Norris had proved herself to be.
Old Mr. Norris gave him a warm welcome. He was sitting in the same place on the high-backed wooden settle, and beside him was a little girl about eight years old, dressed in a scarlet cap and jersey and a navy skirt, with a mass of beautiful curly brown hair hanging down her back.
"This is Miss Joyce Sinclair," said the old man. "She has been about the farm all day. They are carrying the hay, and she has been riding in the wagons, and driving them too. Haven't you, missy?"
"Yes," said the little girl, "and gathering the eggs, and feeding the chickens, and helping Mrs. Norris to milk."
"She loves animals," said the old man. "She has a sort of power over every creature, her father says, and she's afraid of nothing. You see, there are only the three Sinclair brothers and this little girl, nine years younger than any of them. She goes everywhere she can with them, plays their games, climbs trees, jumps her own height nearly, and is a regular little tom-boy."
"Joyce, why didn't you come on the shore with us?" asked Forester.
"I did go," said the child. "I went with Bruce and Victor."
"Who are Bruce and Victor?" asked the doctor.
"Our dogs. Haven't you seen them? I'll bring them in. They're darlings!"
Joyce ran out of the kitchen, and soon returned with two great collie dogs -- beautiful creatures with soft auburn hair, long drooping tails, bright brown eyes, and faces full of intelligence. They were evidently devoted to the child for they watched her every movement, and obeyed her every word. Then she took them for a race round the courtyard before going to bed. The supper was put on the table, and Forester sat down with his friends.
"Have you had the artist here?" he asked.
"Yes, and he's a strange customer," said the old man. "I don't believe he's an artist at all."
"My father's a suspicious man," said Rupert. "It's a wonder he let you sleep here on the night I brought you up to the castle. I had my doubts whether he would, and I saw him look hard at your card when you handed it to him."
The old man laughed. "Well, I don't think I'm wrong this time," he said. "I think he is a strange customer."
"I certainly don't like him," answered Forester.
"You have seen him, then, have you, doctor?"
"Yes, staring up at the castle this morning, when I was going down to bathe."
"Well, you and I are agreed," said the old man. "For I don't like him either."
"What has he been drawing?"
"Can't make up his mind, sir," said old Mr. Norris. "He has been wandering about all day, upstairs and downstairs, peering in this turret and that turret, looking here and looking there, and be hasn't settled on a place yet."
"Has the antiquarian been here too?"
"What, Clegg? No, I haven't seen any sign of him -- that's one blessing!"
"Have you found the loft key, Rupert?" Forester asked.
"Not yet, sir. I haven't had much time to look. We're getting the last of the hay in."
As they sat over the fire after supper, Forester once more returned to the subject of the artist and asked what his name was, and where he came from.
The old man looked up from the fire. "His name is De Jersey, so he says. It may be, or it may not be. He claims he is descended from the Huguenots, and is living now in Leamington. Again I say, he may be, or he may not be."
"Now, didn't I tell you father was a suspicious man?" said Rupert.
When, some time after this, Norman Forester said goodnight and went to his tent, he thought as he looked back at the castle that he saw a light in one of the narrow windows in the unoccupied part. Could the strange artist De Jersey be still at work?
But, even as he wondered, the light went out and the castle was left in darkness.