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Once more he resumed his pacing, his hands behind him, his eyes upon the floor.

“Imagination is, perhaps, man’s greatest gift,” said he. “Without it there would be little accomplished in the world. But there are times when one is forced to put the brakes upon it, or it would lead one astray.”

Scanlon looked at him curiously.

“What’s set you off on that?” asked he.

Ashton-Kirk stopped in his pacing, and lifted his head.

“That object he had given you on the bridge upon the occasion of your first visit, and which afterward had such a startling effect upon young Campe—what did you say it was like?”

“It was a stone—not very big—dark green in colour—and with a kind of hump upon one side of it.”

The crime student nodded; there was a look in the singular eyes which Bat Scanlon had seen there only upon rare occasions.

“I remembered it as being something like that,” said Ashton-Kirk. He took up the interrupted pacing for a moment; then paused once more. “What do you make of that sound we heard out on the hills to-night?”