thoughts of those at table was a
little package rich in treasure; and evidently first in the thoughts of
most of them, as the probable holder of that package, was Mr. Magee
himself. Several times he looked up to find Max's cat-like eyes upon
him, sinister and cruel behind the incongruous gold-rimmed glasses;
several times he saw Hayden's eyes, hostile and angry, seek his face.
They were desperate; they would stop at nothing; Mr. Magee felt that as
the drama drew to its close they saw him and him alone between them and
their golden desires.

"Before I came up here to be a hermit," remarked Cargan
contemporaneously with the removal of the soup, "which I may say in
passing I ain't been able to be with any success owing to the popularity
of the sport on Baldpate Mountain, there was never any candles on the
table where I et. No, sir. I left them to the people up on the
avenue--to Mr. Hayden and his kind that like to work in dim
surroundings--I was always strong for a bright light on my food. What
I'm afraid of is that I'll get the habit up here, and will be wanting
Charlie to set out a silver candelabrum with my lager. Candles'd be
quite an innovation at Charlie's, wouldn't they, Lou?"

"Too swell for Charlie's," commented Mr. Max. "Except after closing
hours. I've seen 'em in use there then, but the idea wasn't glory and
decoration."

"I hope you don't dislike the candles, Mr. Cargan," remarked Miss
Norton. "They add such a lot to the romance of the affair, don't you
think? I'm terribly thrilled by all this. The rattling of the windows,
and the flickering light--two lines of a poem keep running through my
head:

"'My lord he followed after one who whispered in his ear--
The weeping of the candles and the wind is all I hear.'

I don't know who the lord was, nor what he followed--perhaps the seventh
key. But the weeping candles and the wind seem so romantic--and so like
Baldpate Inn to-night."

"If I had a daughter your age," commented Cargan, not unkindly, "she'd
be at home reading Laura Jean Libbey by the fire, and not chasing after
romance on a mountain."

"That would be best for her, I'm sure," replied the girl sweetly. "For
then she wouldn't be likely to find out things about her father that
would prove disquieting."

"Dearie!" cried Mrs. Norton. No one else spoke, but all looked at the
mayor. He was busily engaged with his food. Smiling his amusement, Mr.
Magee sought to direct the conversation into