s if in answer to her question, there came a great gust of wind and
rain against the door, a blast which shook the oak, thick and solid as
it was. And then came the thunder of the knocker which Letty-Lou had
polished into shining life only the day before.

Val opened the door to find Mr. Creighton and Mr. Holmes huddled on the
mat. They came in with an eagerness which was only surpassed by Satan,
wet and displaying cold anger towards his mistress, whom he passed with
a disdainful flirt of his tail as he headed for that deceptive fire.

"You, again," observed Charity resignedly as Sam Two was summoned and
sent away again draped with wet coats and drenched hats.

"Man"--Holmes argued with Satan for the possession of the
hearth-stone--"when it rains in this country, it rains. A branch of your
creek down there is almost over the road--"

"Bayou, not creek," corrected Charity acidly. Lately she had shown a
marked preference for Holmes' absence rather than his company.

"I stand corrected," he laughed; "a branch of your bayou."

"If you found it so unpleasant, why did you--" began Charity, and then
she flushed as if she had suddenly realized that that speech was too
rude even for her recent attitude.

"Why did we come?" Holmes' crooked eyebrow slid upward as his face
registered mock reproof. "My, my, what a warm welcome, my dear." He
shook his head and Charity laughed in spite of herself.

"Don't mind my bearishness," she made half apology. "You know what
pleasant moods I fall into while working. And this rain is depressing."

"But Miss Biglow is right." Creighton smiled his rare, shy smile.
Brusque and impatient as he was when on business bent, he was awkwardly
uncomfortable in ordinary company. The man, Val sometimes thought
privately, lived, ate, slept books. Save when they were the subject of
conversation, he was as out of his element as a coal-miner at the
ballet. "We should explain the reason for this--this rather abrupt
call." He fingered his brief-case, which he still clutched, nervously.

"Down to business already." Holmes seated himself on the arm of Ricky's
chair. "Very well, out with it."

Creighton smiled again, laid the case across his knees, and looked
straight at Ricky. For some reason he talked to her, as if she above all
others must be firmly convinced of the importance of his mission.

"It is a very queer story, Miss Ralestone, a very queer--"

"Said the mariner to the wedding guest." Holmes sn