Quimby had come in through the dining-room door,
and stood gazing at the group before the fire, his face reflecting what
Mr. Magee, the novelist, would not have hesitated a moment in terming
"mingled emotions".

"Well," drawled Mr. Quimby. He strode into the room. "Mr. Magee," he
said, "that letter from Mr. Bentley asked me to let you stay at Baldpate
Inn. There wasn't anything in it about your bringing parties of friends
along."

"These are not friends I've brought along," explained Magee. "They're
simply some more amateur hermits who have strolled in from time to time.
All have their individual latch-keys to the hermitage. And all, I
believe, have credentials for you to examine."

Mr. Quimby stared in angry wonder.

"Is the world crazy?" he demanded. "Any one 'd think it was July, the
way people act. The inn's closed, I tell you. It ain't running."

Professor Bolton rose from his chair.

"So you are Quimby," he said in a soothing tone. "I'm glad to meet you
at last. My old friend John Bentley has spoken of you so often. I have a
letter from him." He drew the caretaker to one side, and took an
envelope from his pocket. The two conversed in low tones.

Quickly the girl in the corduroy suit leaned toward Mr. Magee. She
whispered, and her tone was troubled:

"Stand by me. I'm afraid I'll need your help."

"What's the matter?" inquired Magee.

"I haven't much of any right here, I guess. But I had to come."

"But your key?"

"I fear my--my press-agent--stole it."

A scornful remark as to the antiquated methods of that mythical
publicity promoter rose to Mr. Magee's lips, but before he spoke he
looked into her eyes. And the remark was never made. For in their
wonderful depths he saw worry and fear and unhappiness, as he had seen
them there amid tears in the station.

"Never mind," he said very gently, "I'll see you through."

Quimby was standing over Mr. Bland. "How about you?" he asked.

"Call up Andy Rutter and ask about me," replied Bland, in the tone of
one who prefers war to peace.

"I work for Mr. Bentley," said Quimby. "Rutter hasn't any authority
here. He isn't to be manager next season, I understand. However the
professor wants me to let you stay. He says he'll be responsible." Mr.
Bland looked in open-mouthed astonishment at the unexpected sponsor he
had found. "And you?" went on Quimby to the women.

"Why--" began Miss Norton.

"Absolutely all right," said Mr. Magee. "They come from Hal Be