he was proceeding upon his sister's errand.

He stepped into the only taxi in sight and drove to the village
druggist's for the key to the Congdon house.

"Just go in and take your time to it," said the man. "Lights and water
haven't been turned off and if you take the house your folks can step
right in. Mrs. Congdon left only yesterday. Suppose you'll be going on
the five eleven; it's your only chance of getting back to Boston
tonight. If you don't find it convenient to stop here again, just leave
the key under the door mat."

"I guess you'll find the place all shipshape," said the driver, as they
set off. "Folks came up early but didn't stay long. Left in a hurry;
kind o' funny, skippin' the way they did."

"There hadn't been sickness in the family?" asked Archie, apprehensively
thinking that he might be stumbling into infection.

"Lord no! Family troubles, I reckon! They been comin' here a long time
and usually came earlier and stayed later than anybody else. I don't
know nothin', mind ye, but there's talk she had trouble with her
husband."

"You mean Mr. and Mrs. Congdon have separated?"

"I'm sayin' nothin'! But the Congdons are all queer. His pap used to
have a house here and he was the worst ole crank on the shore. Young
Putney's a pretty decent fellow. Mighty fine woman, his wife. Ever'body
likes _her_."

The confidences of the weatherbeaten chauffeur only mildly interested
Archie, who was bent upon inspecting the house as quickly as possible
with a view to footing it back to the station, and thus crediting two
miles to the day's exercise account. It was unseasonably warm and the
air was lifeless and humid.

"Think it will rain?" asked Archie.

"Yep," replied the driver with a glance at the sea. "There's goin' to be
a lively kick-up before mornin'."

Archie eyed his top-coat and umbrella with the pardonable satisfaction
of a man who travels prepared for all weathers. To follow the shore path
in the teeth of a storm would do much toward establishing his
self-confidence and prove that he was not a mollycoddle. Isabel Perry
and her note were firmly imbedded in his subconsciousness and were
causing curious slips and shifts of his mental machinery. Certain of her
utterances at his sister's table rankled, and his thousandth conjecture
about the note was that it mocked his weaknesses and defied him to
prove that he was far from being the worthless social parasite she
believed him to be.

III

He di