returned to number seven, and thoughtfully stirred the fire.
The tangle of events bade fair to swamp him.

"The mayor of Reuton," he mused, "has the fifth key. What in the name of
common sense is going on? It's too much even for melodramatic me." He
leaned back in his chair. "Anyhow, I like her eyes," he said. "And I
shouldn't want to be quoted as disapproving of her hair, either. I'm on
her side, whichever it may be."

CHAPTER VI

GHOSTS OF THE SUMMER CROWD

"I wonder," Miss Norton smiled up into Mr. Magee's face, "if you ever
watched the people at a summer hotel get set on their mark for the
sprint through the dining-room door?"

"No," answered Magee, "but I have visited the Zoo at meal-time. They
tell me it is much the same."

"A brutal comparison," said the girl. "But just the same I'm sure that
the head waiter who opens the door here at Baldpate must feel much the
same at the moment as the keeper who proffers the raw meat on the end of
the pitchfork. He faces such a wild determined mob. The front rank is
made up of hard-faced women worn out by veranda gossip. Usually some
stiff old dowager crosses the tape first. I was thinking that perhaps we
resembled that crowd in the eyes of Mr. Peters now."

It was past one o'clock, and Mr. Magee with his four mysterious
companions stood before the fire in the office, each with an eager eye
out for the progress of the hermit, who was preparing the table beside
them. Through the kindness of Quimby, the board was resplendent with
snowy linen.

"We may seem over-eager," commented Professor Bolton. "I have no doubt
we do. It is only natural. With nothing to look forward to but the next
meal, the human animal attaches a preposterous importance to his
feeding. We are in the same case as the summer guests--"

"Are we?" interrupted Mr. Magee. "Have we nothing but the next meal to
look forward to? I think not. I haven't. I've come to value too highly
the capacity for excitement of Baldpate Inn in December. I look forward
to startling things. I expect, before the day is out, at least two
gold-laced kings, an exiled poet, and a lord mayor, all armed with keys
to Baldpate Inn and stories strange and unconvincing."

"Your adventures of the last twenty-four hours," remarked the professor,
smiling wanly, "have led you to expect too much. I have made inquiries
of Quimby. There are, aside from his own, but seven keys in all to the
various doors of Baldpate Inn. Four are he