“Well, sirs, this is against the rules.  We have no visitors except on Saturdays; and then only within reasonable hours.”

“We would like to speak to Dr. Mercer,” said Ashton-Kirk.

“Dr. Mercer is at dinner,” explained the man with the lantern.  “He don’t like it much if he’s disturbed at such times.”

“We will wait until he has finished; we are in no great hurry.”

The man seemed puzzled as to how to act.  With the light held aloft so that not a feature escaped him, he examined them closely.  Apparently he could see nothing with which to find fault; and so he sighed in a perplexed fashion.

“He does not care to have people wait for him,” complained the man.  “He gets very angry if he is worried by such things while dining.”

“You need not announce us until he is through,” said Ashton-Kirk, composedly.

The man hesitated; but finally resolved upon a course and led them up a flight of stone steps and into a wide hall.  The night was raw and a brisk fire of pine knots burning in an old-fashioned hall fireplace, made the place very comfortable.

“If you will be seated, gentlemen,” requested their guide, “I will tell Dr. Mercer of your presence as soon as he has finished.”

They seated themselves obligingly in a couple of low, heavy chairs near the fire; and then the man left them.  The hall was high and rather bare:  the hardwood floor shone brilliantly under the lights; save for the faint murmur of voices from a near-by room, everything was still.

“I should imagine that a place of this sort wouldn’t be at all noisy,” observed Pendleton, in a heavy attempt at jocularity.

Except for a word now and then, they waited in silence for a half hour; then a door opened and steps were heard in the hall.  Both turned and saw a remarkably small man, perhaps well under five feet, dressed with great care and walking with a quick nervous step.  His head was very large and partly bald, rearing above his small frame like a great, bare dome; he carried a silk hat in his hand, and peered abstractedly through spectacles of remarkable thickness.

“Locke,” breathed Pendleton, as his heart paused for a moment and then went on with a leap.

The little man apparently did not see them until he was almost beside them; then he paused with a start, and his eyes grew owlish behind the magnifying lenses as he strove to make them out.  That he did not recognize them seemed to worry him; his thin, gray face seemed to grow grayer and thinner; with a diffident little bow he passed on and out at the front door.

“Not a very formidable looking criminal,” commented Ashton-Kirk, quietly.  “However, you can seldom judge by appearances.  The most astonishing crime that ever came to my notice was perpetrated by the meekest and most conventional man I had ever seen.”

They waited for still another space, and then the man who had shown them in presented himself.  He was now without the lantern, but wore a melancholy look.