“There was a solid body in that paper,” said Paul quietly; “a parallelogram exactly nine inches long and three wide.”

“I say! you’re wonderfully clever, don’t you know,” said the stranger, with unaffected wonder.  “I see it all—­a brick.”

Paul smiled gently and shook his head.  “That is the hasty inference of an inexperienced observer.  You will observe at the point of impact of your wheel the parallel crease is curved, as from the yielding of the resisting substances, and not broken, as it would be by the crumbling of a brick.”

“I say, you’re awfully detective, don’t you know! just like that fellow—­what’s his name?” said the stranger admiringly.

The words recalled Paul to himself.  Why was he acting like a detective? and what was he seeking to discover?  Nevertheless, he felt impelled to continue.  “And that queer old chap whom you met—­why didn’t he help you?”

“Because I passed him before I ran into the—­the parallelogram, and I suppose he didn’t know what happened behind him?”

“Did he have anything in his hand?”

“Can’t say.”

“And you say you were unconscious afterwards?”

“Yes!”

“Long enough for the culprit to remove the principal evidence of his crime?”

“Come!  I say, really you are—­you know you are!”

“Have you any secret enemy?”

“No.”

“And you don’t know Mr. Bunker, the man who owns this vast estate?”

“Not at all.  I’m from Upper Tooting.”

“Good afternoon,” said Paul abruptly, and turned away.

It struck him afterwards that his action might have seemed uncivil, and even inhuman, to the bruised cyclist, who could hardly walk.  But it was getting late, and he was still far from the Hall, which, oddly enough, seemed to be no longer visible from the road.  He wandered on for some time, half convinced that he had passed the lodge gates, yet hoping to find some other entrance to the domain.  Dusk was falling; the rounded outlines of the park trees beyond the wall were solid masses of shadow.  The full moon, presently rising, restored them again to symmetry, and at last he, to his relief, came upon the massive gateway.  Two lions ramped in stone on the side pillars.  He thought it strange that he had not noticed the gateway on his previous entrance, but he remembered that he was fully preoccupied with the advancing figure of his uncle.  In a few minutes the Hall itself appeared, and here again he was surprised that he had overlooked before its noble proportions and picturesque outline.  Its broad terraces, dazzlingly white in the moonlight; its long line of mullioned windows, suffused with a warm red glow from within, made it look like part of a wintry landscape—­and suggested a Christmas card.  The venerable ivy that hid the ravages time had made in its walls looked like black carving.  His heart swelled with strange emotions as he gazed at his ancestral hall.  How