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“I know it,” said Ashton-Kirk. “It was built by a German officer who came over with Baron Steuben during the Revolution. When peace came, he decided he liked the section well enough to stay. He was rich, and built Schwartzberg in the effort to get some of the colour of the old land into the new.”

“It was something like that,” said Mr. Scanlon, nodding. “And the builder must have been related, in a way, to the Campes. Anyhow, they came into the castle some years ago. Well, to be invited to a place like that was not usual with me; and I felt a little swelled up about it.

“‘You’ve been asked because of your qualities as a sportsman and boon companion,’ says I to myself; ‘the discriminating always pick you for an ace.’

“But twenty-four hours later I had learned my true status,” said Scanlon, his brows corrugating, and his thick forefinger tapping the table. “I had been asked to Schwartzberg to act as a body-guard, and for nothing else in the world.”

“I see,” said Ashton-Kirk.

“Mind you, the situation has never been put into plain words. In fact, it’s never been even hinted at. But things happened, queer things, with no meanings attached, and so I gradually understood. A body-guard I was; and my job was to protect young Campe from something out among the hills.”