the
temples, a tendency--growing upon him, alas!--to raise his hand to his
ear when called upon to listen, show that he has already passed the
meridian of life; but in his quick glance, and clear and rapid speech,
youth still lingers, making of him a companion delightful to many and
admirable to all.

The other--Carleton Roberts, his bosom friend, and the museum's chief
director--is of a different type, but no less striking to the eye. For
him, personality has done much toward raising him to his present status
among the leading men of New York. While not tall, he is tall enough
never to look short, owing to the trim elegance of his figure and the
quiet dignity of his carriage. He does not need to turn his face to
impress you with the idea that he is handsome; but when he does so, you
find that your expectations are more than met by the reality. For though
he may not have the strictly regular features we naturally associate with
one of his poise and matchless outline, there is enough of that quality,
and more than enough of that additional elusive something which is an
attraction in itself, to make for handsomeness in a marked degree. He,
like his friend, has passed his fortieth year, but nowhere save in his
abundant locks can one see any sign of approaching age. They are quite
white--cut close, but quite white, so white they attracted the notice of
his companion, who stole more than one look at them as he chatted on in
what had become almost a monologue, so little did Roberts join in the
conversation.

Finally the Curator paused, and stealing another look at that white head,
remarked anxiously:

"Have you not grown gray very suddenly? I don't remember your being
whiter than myself the day I dined with you just preceding the horrible
occurrence at the museum."

"I have been growing gray for a year," rejoined the other. "My father was
white at forty; I am just forty-three."

"It becomes you, and yet--Roberts, you have taken this matter too much
to heart. We were not to blame in any way, unless it was in having such
deadly weapons within reach. How could one suppose----"

"Yes, how could one suppose!" echoed the director. "And the mystery of
it! The police seem no nearer solving the problem now than on the night
they practised archery in the galleries. It does wear on me, possibly
because I live so much alone. I see----"

Here he stopped abruptly. They had been strolling in the direction of the
house, and at this