gh he had the worse of the start, was not slow.
He also had tasted the Major's brown sherry. He closed his ledgers,
locked his desk, caught up his hat, and was closing the Custom House
door behind him when, from the top of the Custom House steps, he saw
the Major's door open to admit Dr. Hansombody.

Ye who listen with credulity to the whispers of fancy and pursue in
imagination the pleasures of hope, attend to the story of Dr.
Hansombody, Mr. Pennefather, and the brown sherry!

"Dr. Hansombody?" With her own hand Miss Marty opened the door, and
her start of surprise was admirably affected. (Ah, Miss Marty!
Who was it rated Lavinia this morning for a verbal fib, until the
poor child dropped her head upon the kitchen table and with sobs
confessed herself the chief of sinners?) But even as she welcomed
the apothecary, her gaze fell past him upon the form of a stranger
who, sauntering up the street, had paused at the gate to scan the
Major's house-front.

"I ask your pardon." The stranger, a long, lean, lantern-jawed man,
raised his hat and addressed her with a strong French accent.
"But does Mr. Hymen inhabit here?"

"Yes, sir; Major Hymen--that is to say the Mayor--lives here."

"Ah! he is also the Maire? So much the better." He drew out a card.
"Will it please you, mademoiselle, to convey this to him?"

Standing on the third step he held up the card. Miss Marty took it
and read, "M. Cesar Dupin."

"Of Guernsey," added M. Dupin, rubbing his long unshaven chin while
he stole a long look at the Doctor. "It is understood that I come
only to lodge a complaint."

"To be sure--to be sure," agreed the Doctor, hurriedly. "A Guernsey
merchant," he whispered. . . . "You will convey my excuses to the
Major; an unexpected visitor--I quite understand."

He made a motion to retire. At the same moment the Collector, after
scanning the stranger from the Custom House porch, himself unseen,
unlocked his door again without noise, re-entered his office and
delicately drew down the blind of the little window overlooking the
Major's garden.

"There is the parlour," Miss Marty made answer in an undertone.
"This gentleman may not detain the Major long." She turned to the
stranger. "Your business, sir, is doubtless private?"

"I should prefer."

"Quite so." She raised her voice and called, "Scipio! Scipio!
Ah, there you are! Take this gentleman's card out to the terrace and
inform the Major that he desires an intervi