Godfrey met me at the stair-foot, and led the way into what was evidently a lounging-room.  A tray containing some cold meat, bread and butter, cheese, and a few other things, stood on a side-table, and to this Godfrey added two bottles of Bass.

“No doubt you’re hungry after the ride,” he said.  “I know I am,” and he opened the bottles.  “Help yourself,” and he proceeded to make himself a sandwich.  “You see, I live the simple life out here.  I’ve got an old couple to look after the place—­Mr. and Mrs. Hargis.  Mrs. Hargis is an excellent cook—­but to ask her to stay awake till midnight would be fiendish cruelty.  So she leaves me a lunch in the ice-box, and goes quietly off to bed.  I’ll give you some berries for breakfast such as you don’t often get in New York—­and the cream—­wait till you try it!  Have a cigar?”

“No,” I said, sitting down very content with the world, “I’ve got my pipe,” and I proceeded to fill up.

Godfrey took down his own pipe from the mantelshelf and sat down opposite me.  A moment later, two puffs of smoke circled toward the ceiling.

“Now,” I said, looking at him, “go ahead and tell me about it.”

Godfrey watched a smoke-ring whirl and break before he answered.

“About ten days ago,” he began, “just at midnight, I happened to glance out of my bedroom window, as I was turning in, and caught a glimpse of a queer light apparently sinking into the tree-tops.  I thought nothing of it; but two nights later, at exactly the same time, I saw it again.  I watched for it the next night, and again saw it—­just for an instant, you understand, as it formed high in the air and started downward.  The next night I was up a tree and saw more of it; but it was not until night before last that I found the place from which the whole spectacle could be seen.  The trees are pretty thick all around here, and I doubt if there is any other place from which those two figures would be visible.”

“Then there were two figures!” I said, for I had begun to think that my eyes had deceived me.

“There certainly were.”

“Standing in space?”

“Oh, no; standing on a very substantial roof.”

“But what is it all about?” I questioned.  “Why should that light descend every midnight?  What is the light, anyway?”

“That’s what I’ve brought you out here to find out.  You’ve got four clear days ahead of you—­and I’ll be at your disposal from midnight on, if you happen to need me.”

“But you must have some sort of idea about it,” I persisted.  “At least you know whose roof those figures were standing on.”

“Yes, I know that.  The roof belongs to a man named Worthington Vaughan.  Ever hear of him?”

I shook my head.