rd, fine line of craft and cruelty. The
man's eyes were unholy. They stared straight before him, and were
dead. With his entrance there was infused in the atmosphere a sense of
something venomous. "Mr. Alden Honeywell?" said Average Jones.

"Yes." The voice had refinement and calm.

"I want to introduce you to Mr. William H. Robinson."

The new-comer's head turned slowly to his right shoulder then back. His
eyes remained rigid.

"Why, the man's blind!" burst out Mr. Robins in his piping voice.

"Blind!" echoed Bertram. "Did you know this Average?"

"Of course. The pin-pricks showed it. And the letter mailed to Mr.
Robinson at the General Delivery, which, if you remember, had the
address penciled in from pin-holes."

"When you have quite done discussing my personal misfortune," said
Honeywell patiently, "perhaps you will be good enough to tell me which
is William Robinson."

"I am," returned the owner of that name. "And do you be good enough to
tell me why you hound me with your hellish threats."

"That is not William Robinson's voice!" said the blind man. "Who are
you?"

"William H. Robinson."

"Not William Honeywell Robinson!"

"No; William Hunter Robinson."

"Then why am I brought here?"

"To make a statement for publication in to-morrow morning's newspaper,"
returned Average Jones crisply.

"Statement? Is this a yellow journal trap?"

"As a courtesy to Mr. Robinson, I'll explain. How long have you lived in
the Caronia, Mr. Robinson?"

"About eight months."

"Then, some three or four months before you moved in, another William H.
Robinson lived there for a short time. His middle name was Honeywell. He
is a cousin, and an object of great solicitude to this gentleman here.
In fact, he is, or will be, the chief witness against Mr. Honeywell in
his effort to break the famous Holden Honeywell will, disposing of some
ten million dollars. Am I right, Mr. Honeywell?"

"Thus far," replied the blind man composedly.

"Five years ago William Honeywell Robinson became addicted to a patent
headache 'dope.' It ended, as such habits do, in insanity. He was
confined two years, suffering from psychasthenia, with suicidal
melancholia and delusion of persecution. Then he was released, cured,
but with a supersensitive mental balance."

"Then the messages were intended to drive him out of his mind again,"
said Bertram in sudden enlightenment. "What a devil!"

"Either that, or to impel him, by suggestion, to sui