Tracy made slow progress with his work, for his mind wandered a good deal.

Many things were puzzling him.

Finally a light burst upon him all of a sudden--seemed to, at any rate--and he said to himself, "I've got the clew at last--this man's mind is off its balance; I don't know how much, but it's off a point or two, sure; off enough to explain this mess of perplexities, anyway.

These dreadful chromos which he takes for old masters; these villainous portraits--which to his frantic mind represent Rossmores; the hatchments; the pompous name of this ramshackle old crib-- Rossmore Towers; and that odd assertion of his, that I was expected.

How could I be expected?
that is, Lord Berkeley.