“I’m led to believe that you have in this house an escaped convict, name of Vaniman,” declared the officer.

“Don’t your prison records show that the convict named Vaniman is officially dead, sir?”

“I’ll admit that; but if what I have heard since I was routed out of my bed is so, those records will have to be revised.”

“I have no control over your records,” returned the Squire, grimly.

Mr. Bangs made another step forward.

“But I have full control over my own house, sir.  You cannot come in.”

“Do you stand in the way of a deputy warden of the state prison?”

“I certainly do until he presents himself in my door with a proper search warrant, instead of coming here on the strength of mere hearsay.”

“I tried to get a warrant,” the officer confessed.  “But I can’t locate the trial justice.”

“I hear that he is moving,” was the Squire’s dry retort.

“You seem to be the only one in the place who isn’t moving,” said Bangs, craning his neck to peer past the keeper of the door.

“Oh, I’m simply delaying my departure a few days in order to close up some matters of business.”

“Let me tell you that if you’re concealing a convict in this house you’ll have more business than what you plan on.  I’m up here—­”

“As you have reported to me and all others, you’re up here to find two escaped prisoners, sir.  Very well!  They are not in my house.  But I have heard from them.  They were seen a very short time ago in the stretch of woods near here known as Baniman’s Bower.  If you hurry you may catch them.”

Bangs displayed prompt interest.  He showed more when the Squire added:  “They may be already captured.  I learned, also, that a man who has been a prison guard was in the same locality.  You officials seem to be very vigilant!”

Mr. Bangs choked back some sort of a threatened explosion.  He stood there, shifting from foot to foot.  Then he blurted:  “Say, you seem to be the most level-headed man in this town.  I’ll go chase those convicts if your tip is a straight one.  But tell me!  Am I having the nightmare, or are all these things really happening around here?”

However, Squire Hexter did not try to comfort the perturbed Mr. Bangs just then.  The notary stepped out on the porch, closing his door behind him.  He stared into the graying murk of the night and the fog.  That fog was showing a light which was not that of the dawn.  It was a spreading, baleful, reddening glare, and after a few moments it covered all the sky.

Then men began to shout.  There was an especial uproar from one quarter.  The Squire knew that in the direction of the hullabaloos were located the camps in which were lodged the imported workmen who had wrought into solid structure the plans of the mansion that Britt had held in pictured form before the eyes of Egypt.

The feet of running men pounded along the highway.  Somebody cried, in clarion tones, “It’s Tasp Britt’s new house!”