Ashton-Kirk called to one of these. He was a lanky fellow in a wide-brimmed hat and with a sheep-like look of complacency.
“What’s the best way to Dr. Mercer’s place?” asked Ashton-Kirk.
The lanky man reflected.
“There’s three or four ways of getting there,” he stated. “You can go up the pike and turn at Harbison’s store; or you can turn down the lane along there a piece and go along until you come to—”
“Which is the nearest?”
“I ain’t never passed no judgment on that; but I think the clay road down toward Plattville would get you there the quickest—if you didn’t get stuck in the ruts.”
“I think we’d better stick to the pike,” suggested Pendleton.
“The pike’s the best road,” said the lanky man. “All the people from Mercer’s place use it when they drive here to the station.”
Once more the big French car, now with its lamps lighted, sped along the road; about a mile further on they came to the store referred to by the man as Harbison’s. Here they received instructions as to how to proceed, by the storekeeper; and after running about four miles along an indifferent wagon road, they caught the twinkle of many lights off in the middle of a wide clearing.
“That must be it,” said the investigator. “We’ll leave the car here; to flash up to the door in the quiet of the evening would attract more attention than would be good for us, perhaps.”
It was now quite dark, but they found a gate a trifle farther on which opened readily; and so they proceeded along a walk toward a building which lay blinking at them with its yellow eyes. A deep-throated dog scented them from off in the distance and gave tongue. As they drew near to the institution they heard a man calling to the brute to be still. A little further on the man himself suddenly appeared from around the corner of a building with a lantern; he flashed this in their faces as he said:
“Well, sirs, this is against the rules. We have no visitors except on Saturdays; and then only within reasonable hours.”
“We would like to speak to Dr. Mercer,” said Ashton-Kirk.
“Dr. Mercer is at dinner,” explained the man with the lantern. “He don’t like it much if he’s disturbed at such times.”
“We will wait until he has finished; we are in no great hurry.”
The man seemed puzzled as to how to act. With the light held aloft so that not a feature escaped him, he examined them closely. Apparently he could see nothing with which to find fault; and so he sighed in a perplexed fashion.
“He does not care to have people wait for him,” complained the man. “He gets very angry if he is worried by such things while dining.”
“You need not announce us until he is through,” said Ashton-Kirk, composedly.
The man hesitated; but finally resolved upon a course and led them up a flight of stone steps and into a wide hall. The night was raw and a brisk fire of pine knots burning in an old-fashioned hall fireplace, made the place very comfortable.
“If you will be seated, gentlemen,” requested their guide, “I will tell Dr. Mercer of your presence as soon as he has finished.”
They seated themselves obligingly in a couple of low, heavy chairs near the fire; and then the man left them. The hall was high and rather bare: the hardwood floor shone brilliantly under the lights; save for the faint murmur of voices from a nearby room, everything was still.
“I should imagine that a place of this sort wouldn’t be at all noisy,” observed Pendleton, in a heavy attempt at jocularity.
Except for a word now and then, they waited in silence for a half hour; then a door opened and steps were heard in the hall. Both turned and saw a remarkably small man, perhaps well under five feet, dressed with great care and walking with a quick nervous step. His head was very large and partly bald, rearing above his small frame like a great, bare dome; he carried a silk hat in his hand, and peered abstractedly through spectacles of remarkable thickness.
“Locke,” breathed Pendleton, as his heart paused for a moment and then went on with a leap.
The little man apparently did not see them until he was almost beside them; then he paused with a start, and his eyes grew owlish behind the magnifying lenses as he strove to make them out. That he did not recognize them seemed to worry him; his thin, gray face seemed to grow grayer and thinner; with a diffident little bow he passed on and out at the front door.
“Not a very formidable looking criminal,” commented Ashton-Kirk, quietly. “However, you can seldom judge by appearances. The most astonishing crime that ever came to my notice was perpetrated by the meekest and most conventional man I had ever seen.”
They waited for still another space, and then the man who had shown them in presented himself. He was now without the lantern, but wore a melancholy look.
“Dr. Mercer will see you,” said he in a low voice. “He is very much vexed at being disturbed. He’ll remember it against me for weeks.” He appeared very much disturbed.
Ashton-Kirk placed a coin in the speaker’s hand; this seemed to have a bracing effect, for he led them into his employer’s presence in a brighter frame of mind. Dr. Mercer was seated at the table in his dining-room. A napkin was tucked in his collar, his fat hands were folded across his stomach, and he was breathing heavily.
“Gentlemen,” spoke he, rolling his eyes around to them, “I trust you will pardon my not rising. But to exert myself after dining has a most injurious result sometimes. My digestion is painfully impaired; the slightest excitement causes me
