He turned back to Ronicky Doone.  “And I suppose you have overhead our entire conversation?”

“The whole lot of it,” said Ronicky, “though I wasn’t playing my hand at eavesdropping.  I couldn’t help hearing you, partner.”

The man of the sneer looked him over leisurely.  “Western,” he said at last, “decidedly Western.

“Are you staying long in the East, my friend?”

“I dunno,” said Ronicky Doone, smiling faintly at the coolness of the other.  “What do you think about it?”

“Meaning that I’m liable to put an end to your stay?”

“Maybe!”

“Tush, tush!  I suppose Ruth has filled your head with a lot of rot about what a terrible fellow I am.  But I don’t use poison, and I don’t kill with mysterious X-rays.  I am, as you see, a very quiet and ordinary sort.”

Ronicky Doone smiled again.  “You just oblige me, partner,” he replied in his own soft voice.  “Just stay away from the walls of the room—­don’t even sit down.  Stand right where you are.”

“You’d murder me if I took another step?” asked the man of the sneer, and a contemptuous and sardonic expression flitted across his face for the first time.

“I’d sure blow you full of lead,” said Ronicky fervently.  “I’d kill you like a snake, stranger, which I mostly think you are.  So step light, and step quick when I talk.”

“Certainly,” said the other, bowing.  “I am entirely at your service.”  He turned a little to Ruth.  “I see that you have a most determined cavalier.  I suppose he’ll instantly abduct you and sweep you away from beneath my eyes?”

She made a vague gesture of denial.

“Go ahead,” said the leader.  “By the way, my name is John Mark.”

“I’m Doone—­some call me Ronicky Doone.”

“I’m glad to know you, Ronicky Doone.  I imagine that name fits you.  Now tell me the story of why you came to this house; of course it wasn’t to see a girl!”

“You’re wrong!  It was.”

“Ah?” In spite of himself the face of John Mark wrinkled with pain and suspicious rage.

“I came to see a girl, and her name, I figure, is Caroline Smith.”

Relief, wonder, and even a gleam of outright happiness shot into the eyes of John Mark.  “Caroline?  You came for that?” Suddenly he laughed heartily, but there was a tremor of emotion in that laughter.  The perfect torture, which had been wringing the soul of the man of the sneer, projected through the laughter.

“I ask your pardon, my dear,” said John Mark to Ruth.  “I should have guessed.  You found him; he confessed why he was here; you took pity on him—­and—­” He brushed a hand across his forehead and was instantly himself, calm and cool.

“Very well, then.  It seems I’ve made an ass of myself, but I’ll try to make up for it.  Now what about Caroline?  There seems to be a whole host of you Westerners annoying her.”

“Only one:  I’m acting as his agent.”