her figure--one he had
forgot--Professor Thaddeus Bolton, he of the mysterious dialogue by the
annex door. On the professor's forehead was a surprising red scratch,
and his eyes, no longer hidden by the double convex lenses, stood
revealed a washed-out gray in the light of noon.

"A most unfortunate accident," explained the old man. "Most distressing.
I have broken my glasses. I am almost blind without them."

"How'd it happen, Doc?" asked Mr. Cargan easily.

"I came into unexpected juxtaposition with an open door," returned
Professor Bolton. "Stupid of me, but I'm always doing it. Really, the
agility displayed by doors in getting in my path is surprising."

"You and Mr. Max can sympathize with each other," said Magee, "I thought
for a moment your injuries might have been received in the same cause."

"Don't worry, Doc," Mr. Bland soothed him, "we'll all keep a weather eye
out for reporters that want to connect you up with the peroxide
blondes."

The professor turned his ineffectual gaze on the haberdasher, and there
was a startlingly ironic smile on his face.

"I know, Mr. Bland," he said, "that my safety is your dearest wish."

The Hermit of Baldpate announced that lunch was ready, and with the
others Mr. Magee took his place at the table. Food for thought was also
his. The spectacles of Professor Thaddeus Bolton were broken. Somewhere
in the scheme of things those smashed lenses must fit. But where?

CHAPTER XIII

THE EXQUISITE MR. HAYDEN

It was past three o'clock. The early twilight crept up the mountain, and
the shadows began to lengthen in the great bare office of Baldpate Inn.
In the red flicker of firelight Mr. Magee sat and pondered; the interval
since luncheon had passed lazily; he was no nearer to guessing which of
Baldpate Inn's winter guests hugged close the precious package.
Exasperated, angry, he waited for he knew not what, restless all the
while to act, but having not the glimmer of an inspiration as to what
his course ought to be.

He heard the rustle of skirts on the stair landing, and looked up. Down
the broad stairway, so well designed to serve as a show-window for the
sartorial triumphs of Baldpate's gay summer people, came the tall
handsome girl who had the night before set all his plans awry. In the
swift-moving atmosphere of the inn she had hitherto been to Mr. Magee
but a puppet of the shadows, a figure more fictitious than real. Now for
the first time he looked upon her