"Private talk.

Let's go where it's quiet." Without replying in words to this suggestion, Folliot led the way through his rose-trees to a far corner of his grounds, where an old building of grey stone, covered with ivy, stood amongst high trees.

He turned the key of a doorway and motioned Bryce to enter.
"Quiet enough in here, doctor," he observed.

"You've never seen this place--bit of a fancy of mine." Bryce, absorbed as he was in the thoughts of the moment, glanced cursorily at the place into which Folliot had led him.

It was a square building of old stone, its walls unlined, unplastered; its floor paved with much worn flags of limestone, evidently set down in a long dead age and now polished to marble-like smoothness.