irs once more. When it's all through
I'll make a novel of it, dashed if I don't, with the postmaster's
daughter in the three-color process as a frontispiece."

"But who will be the villain?" said Peters.

Hart waved the negro-head pipe at the other three.

"Draw lots. I am indifferent," he said.

CHAPTER XVII

AN OFFICIAL HOUSEBREAKER

No word bearing on the main topic in these men's minds was said during
dinner. Grant was attentive to his guests, but markedly silent, almost
distrait. Two such talkers as Hart and Peters, however, covered any gaps
in this respect. Cigars and pipes were in evidence, and, horrible though
it may sound in the ears of a _gourmet_, the port was circulating, when
Winter turned and gazed at the small window.

"Is that where the ghost appears!" he inquired.

"Yes," said Grant. "You know the whole story, of course?"

"Furneaux misses nothing, I assure you."

"He missed a daylight apparition this afternoon, at any rate. I have no
secrets from my friends, so I may as well tell you--"

"That Siddle called, and implored you to consider Doris Martin's future
by avoiding her at present," put in the Chief Inspector.

Such shocks were losing some of their effect, on the principle that a man
hears the burst of the thousandth high-explosive shell with a good deal
less trepidation than attended the efforts of the first dozen. Still,
Grant gazed at the speaker in profound astonishment.

"You Scotland Yard men seem to know everything," he said.

"A mere pretense. Try him on sheep-raising in the Argentine, Jack,"
murmured Hart.

"Wally, this business is developing a very serious side," protested
Grant. Hart stretched a long arm for the port decanter.

"Come, friend!" he addressed it gravely. "Let us commune! You and I
together shall mingle joyous memories of

"A draught of the Warm South,
The true, the blushful Hippocrene."

"We read Siddle's visit aright, it would appear," said Winter quietly.

"Yes. That was his mission, put in a nutshell."

"And what did you say?"

"I told him that, after Wednesday, I would ask Doris Martin to marry me,
which is the best answer I can give him and all the world."

"Why 'after Wednesday'?"

"Because I shall know then the full extent of the annoyance which
Ingerman can inflict."

"Did you give Siddle that reason?"

"Yes."

Winter frowned.

"You literary gentlemen are all alike," he said vexedly. "You become such
adepts in analyzing hu