“Who are you?  What is your errand?”

“We were sent to you by Dr. Mercer,” replied Ashton-Kirk with flying pencil.  “Our business is to secure the admission of a new pupil.”

Locke read this and regarded them for a moment, doubtfully.

“Why did you not press the button at the door?” he demanded in writing.

“I hardly expected you to have such a thing as a bell,” answered Ashton-Kirk, on the pad.  “And so, seeing you, I attracted your attention as best I could.”

Professor Locke read this and stood with his pencil poised, when the buzzer sounded harshly; he went at once into the hall; they heard him open the door; and in a few moments he returned, followed by Haines.

The fingers of the two flashed their signals back and forth; then a look of relief came into Locke’s face; he even smiled, and nodded understandingly at the two young men.

“I beg pardon, gentlemen,” said Haines.  “But when I got back to the hall, Dr. Mercer made me return and make sure that you had got to see the Professor.”

“Thanks,” replied the investigator.  “We had not the slightest difficulty.”

“I’m glad to hear it, sir,” said the man.  “Good-night to you.”

He flashed the same wish to the mute, who answered readily; then he went out and through the window they saw his light again go bobbing away in the darkness.  Then the professor began to write once more.

“I beg your pardon,” was his message in long-hand.  “The man tells me that it was quite as you say.  But I must confess I was a trifle startled.”

“The lady,” wrote Ashton-Kirk, “seemed startled, too.”

For the fraction of a moment the mute halted in his reply.  Then the pencil with much assurance formed the following: 

“It was my niece.  She was about to go just as you came; so do not reproach yourself for having driven her away.”

For some time the penciled conversation continued between the two; but as it was all based upon the fanciful pupil whom the investigator stated he desired to place in Dr. Mercer’s care, Pendleton paid little heed to it.  At last, however, they bid the Professor good-by, and left him upon the threshold, his massive head nodding his adieus, his frail little body sharply outlined by the glow from the hall.

The two had reached their own car around on the other road before Pendleton spoke.  Then he inquired: 

“Well, have you learned anything from him?”

“I think I can say ‘yes’ to that,” answered the other.  “But I’m not yet sure.  I’ll have to put it to the proof first, according to the formula which I gave you a half hour ago.  If it succeeds, I’ll tell you what it is; if it does not, I’ll say nothing, and it will go upon the scrap heap devoted to broken fancies.  And now, Dixon,” to the chauffeur, “we’ll go home.”

CHAPTER XVI

STEEL AGAINST STEEL