and yet, if Thatcher was not at home, why
should he be thus ushered into the inner sanctities of the mansion by
this singular young person, whose silk hose and bright pumps were so
utterly out of harmony with the rest of his garb. There might be a trick
in it; perhaps he had intruded upon a burglarious invasion,--this
invitation to the upper chambers might be for the purpose of shutting
him in somewhere until the place had been looted. It was, in any case, a
novel adventure, and his curiosity was aroused by the languid pace with
which, without pausing at the second floor, the young man continued on
to the third. Through an open door Dan saw a bedroom in order for
occupancy; but the furniture in the upper and lower halls was draped,
and a faint odor of camphor hung upon the air. It had occurred to
Harwood that he might be stumbling upon material for a good "story,"
though just what it might prove to be was still a baffling question. His
guide had not spoken or looked at him since beginning the ascent, and
Harwood grasped his stick more firmly when they gained the third floor.
If violence was in the programme he meant to meet it gallantly. His
conductor passed through a spacious bedroom, and led the way to a
pleasant lounging- and reading-room with walls lined with books. Without
pausing he flung open a door that divulged a shop, with a bench and
tools. The litter of carpentry on the bare floor testified to the room's
recent use.

"Sit down, won't you, and have a cigar?"

Dan hesitated. He felt that he must be the victim of a practical joke,
and it was time that his dignity asserted itself. He had accepted a
cigar and was holding it in his fingers, still standing. His strange
guide struck a match and held it, so that Dan perforce took advantage of
the proffered flame; and he noticed now for the first time the young
fellow's slender, nervous hands, which bore no marks of hard toil. He
continued to watch them with interest as they found and filled a pipe.
They were amazingly deft, expressive hands.

"Have a chair! It's a good one; I made it myself!"

With this the young gentleman jumped lightly upon the workbench where he
nursed his knees and smoked his pipe. He was a graceful person, trimly
and delicately fashioned, and in this strange setting altogether
inexplicable. But Dan's time was important, and he had not yet learned
anything as to Edward G. Thatcher's whereabouts. This languid young
gentleman seemed wholly ind