_are_ you the man they are hunting for?" she asked abruptly.

"I never stole anything more terrible than green apples--and ripe
ones"--with a nod toward the apple-bin.

"Pardon me! I feel very guilty in asking you such a question. You
haven't told me your name."

"Haven't I? My name is Richard Comstalk. My friends call me Dickey."

"Dickey," she murmured. "It's a nice name."

"Won't you have another apple?" I asked impulsively.

"My appetite is appeased, thank you."

An idea came to me. "Hamilton said there were three tens of hearts.
That meant that only one was out of order. Where did you get your
card?"

"That I shall tell you--later."

"But are you really an impostor?"

"I should not be in this cellar else."

"You are very mystifying."

"For the present I prefer to remain so."

We tossed aside the apple-cores, rose, and went on. It was the longest
cellar _I_ ever saw. There seemed absolutely no end to it. The
wine-cellar was walled apart from the main cellar, and had the
semblance of a huge cistern with a door opening into it. As we passed
it, the vague perfume of the grape drifted out to us.

"Let's have a bottle," I began.

"Mr. Comstalk!"

"By absent-treatment!" I hastened to add.

"You will make a capital comrade--if we ever get out of this cellar."

"Trust me for that!" I replied gaily. "Be careful; there's a pile of
empty bottles, yearning to be filled with tomato-catsup. Give me your
hand."

But the moment the little digits closed over mine, a thrill seized me,
and I quickly bent my head and kissed the hand. It was wrong, but I
could not help it. She neither spoke nor withdrew her hand; and my
fear that she might really be offended vanished.

"We are nearly out of it," I said exultantly. "I see the cellar-stairs
on ahead. If only those doors are open!"

"Heaven is merciful to the fool, and we are a pair," she replied,
sighing gratefully. "It seems strange that nobody should be in the
cellar on a night like this. Hark! They are playing again up stairs
in the ball-room."

"And wondering a whole lot where that third ten of hearts has gone."

"But, listen. How are we to get back to the trolley? We certainly can
not walk the distance in these clothes."

"Oh, that carryall will come to our rescue. We are weary and are
leaving early, don't you know? That part is simple; the complicated
thing is to shake the dust of this cellar."

"What a big furnace!" she excl