ed in the inner room.
Instead he sat a long time by the fire. He reflected on the events of
his first few hours in that supposedly uninhabited solitude where he was
to be alone with his thoughts. He pondered the way and manner of the
flippant young man who posed as a lovelorn haberdasher, and under whose
flippancy there was certainly an air of hostility. Who was Andy Rutter,
down in Reuton? What did the young man mean when he asked if he should
"close up shop"? Who was the "he" from whom came the orders? and most
important of all, what was in the package now resting in the great safe?

Mr. Magee smiled. Was this the stuff of which solitude was made? He
recalled the ludicrous literary tale he had invented to balance the
moving fiction of Arabella, and his smile grew broader. His imagination,
at least, was in a healthy state. He looked at his watch. A quarter of
twelve. Probably they were having supper at the Plaza now, and Helen
Faulkner was listening to the banalities of young Williams. He settled
in his seat to think of Miss Faulkner. He thought of her for ten
seconds; then stepped to the window.

The moon had risen, and the snowy roofs of Upper Asquewan Falls sparkled
in the lime-light of the heavens. Under one of those roofs was the girl
of the station--weeping no more, he hoped. Certainly she had eyes that
held even the least susceptible--to which class Mr. Magee prided himself
he belonged. He wished he might see her again; might talk to her without
interruption from that impossible "mamma."

Mr. Magee turned back into the room. His fire was but red glowing ashes.
He threw off his dressing-gown, and began to unlace his shoes.

"There _has_ been too much crude melodrama in my novels," he reflected.
"It's so easy to write. But I'm going to get away from all that up here.
I'm going--"

Mr. Magee paused, with one shoe poised in his hand. For from below came
the sharp crack of a pistol, followed by the crash of breaking glass.

CHAPTER III

BLONDES AND SUFFRAGETTES

Mr. Magee slipped into his dressing gown, seized a candle, and like the
boy in the nursery rhyme with one shoe off and one shoe on, ran into the
hall. All was silent and dark below. He descended to the landing, and
stood there, holding the candle high above his head. It threw a dim
light as far as the bottom of the stairs, but quickly lost the battle
with the shadows that lay beyond.

"Hello," the voice of Bland, the haberdasher, came out of