“Let us fix a strong brass rod right across the window-frame,” I said, “in such a way that nobody can get in without laying hold of it, and by connecting it with a strong dynamo-battery inside, make sure that the man who does lay hold of it will not be able to let go.”

The idea pleased Mr. Fortescue, and he told me to carry it out, which I did promptly and effectively, taking care to make the battery so powerful that, if Mr. Griscelli should try to effect an entrance by the window, he would be disagreeably surprised.  The circuit was, of course, broken by dividing the rod in two parts and interposing a non-conductor between them.

To prevent any of the maids being “shocked,” I told Ramon (who acted as his master’s body servant) to connect the battery every night and disconnect it every morning.  From time to time, moreover, I overhauled the apparatus to see that it was in good working order, and kept up its strength by occasionally recharging the cells.

Once, when I was doing this, Mr. Fortescue said, laughingly:  “I don’t think it is any use, Bacon; Griscelli won’t come in that way.  If, as some people say, it is the unexpected that happens, it is the expected that does not happen.”

But in this instance both happened—­the expected and the unexpected.

As I mentioned at the outset of my story, the habits of the Kingscote household were of an exemplary regularity.  Mr. Fortescue, who rose early, expected everybody else to follow his example in this respect, and, as a rule, everybody did so.

One morning, at the beginning of October, when the sun rose about six o’clock, and we rose with it, I got up, donned my dressing-gown, and went, as usual, to take my matutinal bath.  In order to reach the bath-room I had to pass Mr. Fortescue’s chamber-door.  As I neared it I heard within loud exclamations of horror and dismay, in a voice which I recognized as the voice of Ramon.  Thinking that something was wrong, that Mr. Fortescue had perchance been taken suddenly ill, I pushed open the door and entered without ceremony.

Mr. Fortescue was sitting up in bed, looking with startled gaze at the window; and Ramon stood in the middle of the room, aghast and dismayed.

And well he might, for there hung at the window a man—­or the body of one—­his hands convulsively grasping the magnetized rod, the distorted face pressed against the glass, the lack-lustre eyes wide open, the jaw drooping.  In that ghastly visage I recognized the features of Giuseppe Griscelli!

“Is he dead, doctor?” asked Mr. Fortescue.

“He has been dead several hours,” I said, as I examined the corpse.

“So much the better; the brood is one less, and perhaps after this they will let me live in peace.  They must see that so far as their attempts against it are concerned, I bear a charmed life.  You have done me a great service, Doctor Bacon, and I hold myself your debtor.”