nodded his assent. "I'd like to see the stairs and the parapet."
Greyle looked a little doubtful and uneasy. "Well, I had meant that no one should go up until all this was gone into," he answered. "I don't want any more accidents. You'll be careful?"
"We're both young and agile," responded Copplestone.
"There's no need for alarm. Do you care to go up, Mr. Gilling?"
The pseudo-curate accepted the invitation readily, and he and Copplestone entered the turret. They had climbed half its height before Copplestone spoke.
"Well?" he whispered, "What do you think?"
"It may be accident," muttered Gilling. "It—mayn't."
"You think he might have been—what?—thrown down?"
"Might have been caught unawares, and pushed over. Let's see what there is up above, anyway."
The stair in the turret, much worn, but comparatively safe, and lighted by loopholes and arrow-slits, terminated in a low arched doorway, through which egress was afforded to a parapet which ran completely round the inner wall of the Keep. It was in no place more than a yard wide; the balustrading which fenced it in was in some places completely gone, a mere glance was sufficient to show that only a very cool-headed and extremely sure-footed person ought to
