pets. This threat of Pierre's, that
he would eventually carry off the "foresters" and exhibit their
helplessness to staring crowds, always roused her fiercest
indignation; and this result was just what Angelique wanted, at
present, and she murmured her satisfaction:

"Good. That bee will buzz in her ear till she sleeps, and so sound
she'll hear no dip of the paddle, by and by. Here, Pierre, my son,
you're wanted."

"What for now? Do leave me be. I'm going to bed. I'm just wore out,
trot-trottin' from Pontius to Pilate, lugging salt, and----" he
finished by yawning most prodigiously.

"Firs'-rate sign, that gapin'. Yes. Sign you're healthy and able to do
all's needed. There's no bed for you this night. Come. Here. Take this
basket to the beach. If your canoe needs pitchin', pitch it. There's
the lantern. If one goes into the show business he learns right now
to work and travel o' nights. Yes. Start. I'll follow and explain."

CHAPTER X

DEPARTURE

But Adrian need not have dreaded the interview to which his host had
summoned him. Mr. Dutton's face was a little graver than usual but his
manner was even more kind. He was a man to whom justice seemed the
highest good, who had himself suffered most bitterly from injustice.
He was forcing himself to be perfectly fair with the lad and it was
even with a smile that he motioned toward an easy-chair opposite
himself. The chair stood in the direct light of the lamp, but Adrian
did not notice that.

"Do not fear me, Adrian, though for a moment I forgot myself. For you
personally--personally--I have only great good will. But---- Will you
answer my questions, believing that it is a painful necessity which
compels them?"

"Certainly."

"One word more. Beyond the fact, which you confided to Margot, that
you were a runaway I know no details of your past life. I have wished
not to know and have refrained from any inquiries. I must now break
that silence. What--is your father's name?"

As he spoke the man's hands gripped the arms of his chair more
tightly, like one prepared for an unpleasant answer.

"Malachi Wadislaw."

The questioner waited a moment, during which he seemed to be thinking
profoundly. Then he rallied his own judgment. It was an uncommon name,
but there might be two men bearing it. That was not impossible.

"Where does he live?"

"Number --, Madison Avenue, New York."

A longer silence than before, broken by a long drawn: "A-ah!" There
might,