of the safe, and
the door of the latter swung open. Sinking down on the steps in the
dark, Mr. Magee waited.

"Hello," the young man was saying, "how do you work this thing, anyhow?
I've tried every peg but the right one. Hello--hello! I want long
distance--Reuton. 2876 West--Mr. Andy Rutter. Will you get him for me,
sister?"

Another wait--a long one--ensued. The candle sputtered. The young man
fidgeted in his chair. At last he spoke again:

"Hello! Andy? Is that you, Andy? What's the good word? As quiet as the
tomb of Napoleon. Shall I close up shop? Sure. What next? Oh, see here,
Andy, I'd die up here. Did you ever hit a place like this in winter? I
can't--I--oh, well, if he says so. Yes. I could do that. But no longer.
I couldn't stand it long. Tell him that. Tell him everything's O. K.
Yes. All right. Well, good night, Andy."

He turned away from the switchboard, and as he did so Mr. Magee walked
calmly down the stairs toward him. With a cry the young man ran to the
safe, threw a package inside, and swung shut the door. He turned the
knob of the safe several times; then he faced Mr. Magee. The latter saw
something glitter in his hand.

"Good evening," remarked Mr. Magee pleasantly.

"What are you doing here?" cried the youth wildly.

"I live here," Mr. Magee assured him. "Won't you come up to my
room--it's right at the head of the stairs. I have a fire, you know."

Back into the young man's lean hawk-like face crept the assurance that
belonged with the gay attire he wore. He dropped the revolver into his
pocket, and smiled a sneering smile.

"You gave me a turn," he said. "Of course you live here. Are any of the
other guests about? And who won the tennis match to-day?"

"You are facetious." Mr. Magee smiled too. "So much the better. A lively
companion is the very sort I should have ordered to-night. Come
up-stairs."

The young man looked suspiciously about, his thin nose seemingly
scenting plots. He nodded, and picked up the candle. "All right," he
said. "But I'll have to ask you to go first. You know the way." His
right hand sought the pocket into which the revolver had fallen.

"You honor my poor and drafty house," said Mr. Magee. "This way."

He mounted the stairs. After him followed the youth of flashy
habiliments, looking fearfully about him as he went. He seemed surprised
that they came to Magee's room without incident. Inside, Mr. Magee drew
up an easy chair before the fire, and offered his