eft in my
care--the tables are turned. I ought to show you the door. I ought to
put you out."

"Try it," sneered Hayden.

"No," answered Quimby, "I ain't going to do it. Maybe it's because I've
grown timid, brooding over my failure. And maybe it's because I know
who's got the seventh key."

Hayden made no reply. No one stirred for a minute, and then Quimby moved
away, and went out through the dining-room door.

CHAPTER XV

TABLE TALK

The seventh key! Mr. Magee thrilled at the mention of it. So Elijah
Quimby knew the identity and the mission of the man who hid in the
annex. Did any one else? Magee looked at the broad acreage of the
mayor's face, at the ancient lemon of Max's, at Bland's, frightened and
thoughtful, at Hayden's, concerned but smiling. Did any one else know?
Ah, yes, of course. Down the stairs the professor of Comparative
Literature felt his way to food.

"Is dinner ready?" he asked, peering about.

The candles flickered weakly as they fought the stronger shadows; winter
roared at the windows; somewhere above a door crashed shut. Close to its
final scene drew the drama at Baldpate Inn. Mr. Magee knew it, he could
not have told why. The others seemed to know it, too. In silence they
waited while the hermit scurried along his dim way preparing the meal.
In silence they sat while Miss Norton and her mother descended. Once
there was a little flurry of interest when Miss Thornhill and Hayden met
at the foot of the stairs.

"Myra!" Hayden cried. "In heaven's name--what does this mean?"

"Unfortunately," said the girl, "I know--all it means."

And Hayden fell back into the shadows.

Finally the attitude of the hermit suggested that the dinner was ready.

"I guess you might as well sit down," he remarked. "It's all fixed, what
there is to fix. This place don't need a cook, it needs a commissary
department."

"Peters," reproved Magee. "That's hardly courteous to our guests."

"Living alone on the mountain," replied the hermit from the dining-room
door, "you get to have such a high regard for the truth you can't put
courtesy first. You want to, but you haven't the heart."

The winter guests took their places at the table, and the second
December dinner at Baldpate Inn got under way. But not so genially as on
the previous night did it progress. On the faces of those about him Mr.
Magee noted worry and suspicion; now and again menacing cold eyes were
turned upon him; evidently first in the