It is scarcely necessary to observe that the deciphering of Mr. Fortescue’s notes and the writing of his memoirs were not done in a day.  There were gaps to be filled up, obscure passages to be elucidated, and parts of several chapters and the whole of the last were written to his dictation, so that the summer came and went, and another hunting-season was “in view,” before my work, in its present shape, was completed.  I would fain have made it more complete by giving a fuller account of Mr. Fortescue’s adventures (some of which must have been very remarkable) between his first return from South America and his appearance at Matching Green, and I should doubtless have been able to do so (for he had promised to continue and amplify his narrative during the winter, as also to give me the recipe of his elixir), had not our intercourse been abruptly terminated by one of the strangest events in my experience and, I should think, in his.

But, before going further, I would just observe that Mr. Fortescue’s cynicism, which, when I first knew him, had rather repelled me, was only skin-deep.  Though he held human life rather cheaper than I quite liked, he was a kind and liberal master and a generous giver.  His largesses were often princely and invariably anonymous, for he detested everything that savored of ostentation and parade.  On the other hand, he had no more tolerance for mendicants in broadcloth than for beggars in rags, and to those who asked he gave nothing.  As an instance of his dislike of publicity, I may mention that I had been with him several months before I discovered that he had published, under a pseudonym, several scientific works which, had he acknowledged them, would have made him famous.

After Guiseppe Griscelli’s attempt on his life, I prevailed on Mr. Fortescue never to go outside the park gates unaccompanied; when he went to town, or to Amsterdam, Ramon always went with him, and both were armed.  I also gave strict orders to the lodge-keepers to admit no strangers without authority, and to give me immediate information as to any suspicious-looking characters whom they might see loitering about.

These precautions, I thought, would be quite sufficient to prevent any attack being made on Mr. Fortescue in the daytime.  It was less easy to guard against a surprise during the night, for the park-palings were not so high as to be unclimbable; and the idea of a night-watchman was suggested only to be dismissed, for the very sufficient reason that when he was most wanted he would almost certainly be asleep.  I had no fear of Griscelli breaking in at the front door; but the house was not burglar-proof, and, as it happened, the weak point in our defence was one of the windows of Mr. Fortescue’s bedroom.  It looked into the orchard, and, by climbing a tree which grew hard by, an active man could easily reach it, even without a ladder.  The danger was all the greater, as, when the weather was mild, Mr. Fortescue always slept with the window open.  I proposed iron bars, to which he objected that iron bars would make his room look like a prison.  And then I had a happy thought.