On 16 July 1923, I moved into Exham Priory after the last workman had
finished his labours. The restoration had been a stupendous task, for
little had remained of the deserted pile but a shell-like ruin; yet
because it had been the seat of my ancestors, I let no expense deter
me. The place had not been inhabited since the reign of James the First,
when a tragedy of intensely hideous, though largely unexplained, nature
had struck down the master, five of his children, and several servants;
and driven forth under a cloud of suspicion and terror the third son,
my lineal progenitor and the only survivor of the abhorred line.