I went to my rooms, changed, had dinner at a quiet restaurant, and then took the elevated for the long trip to the Bronx.  It was after eight o’clock when I pulled the bell beside the tall gates to Elmhurst.  The gardener was evidently expecting me, for he appeared almost at once and admitted me.  Without waiting for him, I walked up the drive toward the house.  The lights were on in the library, and I stepped up to the open door.

Then I stopped, and my heart fell.  For there were two white-robed figures in the room.  One was Miss Vaughan and the other was Francisco Silva.  The girl was sitting at his feet.

They had evidently heard my footsteps, for they were looking toward the door, and Miss Vaughan arose as soon as I came within the circle of light.  But if I expected her to show any embarrassment, I was disappointed.

“Come in, Mr. Lester,” she said.  “I believe you have not met Senor Silva.”

The yogi had risen, and now he bowed to me.

“Our encounters heretofore have been purely formal,” he said, smiling.  “I am happy to meet you, Mr. Lester.”

His manner was friendly and unaffected, and imperceptibly some of my distrust of him slipped away.

“I have told Senor Silva,” Miss Vaughan continued, when we were seated, “that you have consented to act as my man of business.”

“And it is my intention,” broke in Silva, “to beseech Mr. Lester to consent to act as my man of business also.  I am sure that I shall need one.”

I was not at all sure of it, for he seemed capable of dealing with any situation.

“It would not be possible for me to represent divergent interests,” I pointed out.

“My dear sir,” protested the yogi, “there will be no divergent interests.  Suppose we put it in this way:  you will represent Miss Vaughan, and will dispose of my interests from that standpoint.  There could be no objection to that, I suppose?”

“No,” I answered, slowly; “but before we go into that, let me understand exactly what these interests are.  Mr. Vaughan’s estate I understand, is a large one.”

Silva shrugged his shoulders.

“I have understood so,” he said, “but I know nothing about it, beyond what Mr. Vaughan himself told me.”

“What was that?”

“That it was his intention to give this place as a monastery for the study of our religion, and to endow it.”

“Did he mention the amount of the endowment?”

“He asked me, not long ago, if a million dollars would be sufficient.”

“Had he drawn up a deed of gift?”

“I do not know.”

“Or made a will?”

Again Silva shrugged indifferently to indicate that he was also ignorant on that point, and I turned to Miss Vaughan.

“If there is a will,” I asked, “where would it probably be?”

“There is a safe here,” she said, “in which my father kept his papers of value,” and she went to the wall and swung out a hinged section of shelving.  The door of a safe appeared behind it.