or
hours. Of his tastes, I can only say that they appear to be mainly
scientific. But he is not averse to society, and is always very well
dressed."

"A taste for science and for fine clothing do not often go together."

"This man is an exception to all rules. The one I'm speaking of, I mean.
I don't say that he's the fellow seen pottering in the snow."

"Call up Clausen."

The manager stepped to the telephone.

Meanwhile, George had advanced to speak to a man who had beckoned to him
from the other side of the room, and with whom in another moment I
saw him step out. Thus deserted, I sank into a chair near one of the
windows. Never had I felt more uncomfortable. To attribute guilt to
a totally unknown person--a person who is little more to you than a
shadowy silhouette against a background of snow--is easy enough and not
very disturbing to the conscience. But to hear that person named; given
positive attributes; lifted from the indefinite into a living, breathing
actuality, with a man's hopes, purposes and responsibilities, is an
entirely different proposition. This Brotherson might be the most
innocent person alive; and, if so, what had we done? Nothing to
congratulate ourselves upon, certainly. And George was not present to
comfort and encourage me. He was--

Where was he? The man who had carried him off was the youngest in
the group. What had he wanted of George? Those who remained showed no
interest in the matter. They had enough to say among themselves. But I
was interested--naturally so, and, in my uneasiness, glanced restlessly
from the window, the shade of which was up. The outlook was a very
peaceful one. This room faced a side street, and, as my eyes fell upon
the whitened pavements, I received an answer to one, and that the most
anxious, of my queries. This was the street into which we had turned, in
the wake of the handsome stranger they were trying at this very moment
to identify with Brotherson. George had evidently been asked to point
out the exact spot where the man had stopped, for I could see from my
vantage point two figures bending near the kerb, and even pawing at the
snow which lay there. It gave me a slight turn when one of them--I do
not think it was George--began to rub his hands together in much the
way the unknown gentleman had done, and, in my excitement, I probably
uttered some sort of an ejaculation, for I was suddenly conscious of a
silence in the room, and when I turned saw all the