o think that a meddlesome old
busy-body had also found them out, and had flung them in his face,
coupled with a warning.

He shook himself together and took another view. He must not be
supersensitive. The old man had been good to him. He had ministered to
him and nursed him when he, himself, was worn and tired. And Dillard had
said he was peculiar. But Glenning had seen the deeper, truer side to
Doctor Kale for a few moments, and he knew that whatever nature he
presented exteriorly, down in his heart he was a man. That personal
experience of which he spoke evasively probably referred to the death of
his wife. Anyhow it was something very vital; something of serious
import, and John saw now that it had been shrewdly given him to assist
him in formulating a proper attitude towards Miss Dudley. Old Doctor
Kale loved her. Of course it was a paternal, protecting love, but it was
deep as the nethermost sea, and as true as heaven. And old Doctor Kale
knew that as sure as grass grew, and water ran down hill, a man and a
maid will love.

Slowly through these engrossing reflections a sound crept to Glenning's
brain. He had been conscious of it for several moments in an indifferent
way, but all at once it assumed the tones of a conversation. He inclined
his head in the direction from whence the sound came, and caught a name
which made him start. He got up, alert, calm, quiet, and moved swiftly
towards the cheap oak dresser. He now observed for the first time that
this sat in front of a door connecting with another room, and it was
from that room the voices came. There was no transom, but by moving the
dresser slightly he would have access to the keyhole. This would have to
be accomplished without noise. He listened. The voices had sunk to a
murmur. There was no choice, and instantly his long, sinewy fingers
gripped the top of the dresser on either side. Oh, how it hurt when he
put forth his strength! But he lifted it, swerved it a few inches, and
set it down without a sound. The exertion had racked his body with
acutest pain, but he smiled grimly as he thought of what his recent
caller would have said and done could he have seen him, then squatted
before the keyhole and softly put his ear to the tiny aperture. In an
instant his face grew grave.

"Tonight, Travers; it must be tonight," a husky, coarse voice was
whispering; "it's got to be done!"

"And you want _me_ to do it?" came the answering whisper, in a nervous,
excited