“Since yesterday?”

“Yes, since yesterday.”

“Where, may I ask?”

“In the summer-house here, a few moments ago.”

Coolidge gave utterance to an oath, which burst from his lips before it could be wholly restrained.

“Damn you! just what is your game?” he exclaimed roughly, forgetting his pose.  “Are you trying to get your nose into my affairs?”

“Most certainly not,” returned West coolly, yet facing the other with a steady eye.  “I can have no possible interest in your affairs.  But I may be led to investigate those of Miss Coolidge, if she should so request.  It seems she possesses no one to represent her at present—­not even the family lawyer.”

“What do you imply by that remark?”

“That she has gone to you, and to the attorney, who represents the estate, relative to some very strange occurrences of late, only to be laughed at.  No effort has been made to relieve her anxiety.”

“You mean that fool story about some one else pretending to be her?”

“It cannot altogether be a fool story when this mysterious party passes forged checks at the bank.”

“There was only one; that means nothing; the girl isn’t using good sense.  So this is the stuff she is filling you up with?  And you propose investigating her wild imaginings, hey?  By Gad, you are going to have an interesting time.”

“I hope so; at least I am hoping to discover some truth.”

“Good.  I wish you well,” and his tone was one of decided relief.  “Your adventures ought to prove quite amusing.”

Coolidge laughed heartily, the whole affair apparently taking on a new aspect, now that he felt he comprehended the real purpose of the other.

“Oh, by the way, West, you must pardon me if I send Sexton into your room for a valise I left there.  You see I occupied that suite until you came.”

“Oh, indeed,” surprised, “I noticed no other grip there.”

“It is in the closet.  That has always been my room whenever I visit here.  I do not know why Natalie decided to change me this time—­naturally wished to reserve the best for you, I presume.”

“Very kind of her, I am sure.  There is Sexton now.”

“Which means breakfast is served.  Shall we go in?”

The two men walked slowly up the gravelled path, leading to the side door.  West’s thoughts were busy with this new discovery.  Had he inadvertently stumbled upon a clue?  So he had occupied the room usually reserved for Percival Coolidge.  Perhaps here was the explanation of the coming of his strange visitor.  If so, then it was already clearly evident that whatever the plot might be, this fellow had a hand in it.  West glanced aside at the face of his unconscious companion, deciding quickly to venture a chance shot.

“Were you expecting a caller last night?” he asked calmly.

Coolidge wheeled about, startled out of his self-control.