He didn’t find Peaches again until, in company with Zo, he went back to the house after supper. The weather had turned cold over Sunday and the front porch was deserted. The family were in the sitting-room, the first room on the left, and he could hear Mr. Benjy reading something from the evening paper, but a light upstairs had told him that Peaches was in his room and he went up. Peaches, occupying two chairs, was reading a magazine, but he dropped it when Barry pushed open the door. “Hail, hero!” he declaimed. “Bloody but unbowed――what? Come in and rest your wounds. How did it go? I watched you for a while, but there was a certain monotony about your performance and I finally went over and cut in on a tennis game. Do any punting, Barry?” “No, I just stuck around with the dubs. I didn’t even see Major Loring except in the distance. My boss was Haviland.” “Ira, eh?” Peaches arose and closed one of the windows. “It’s getting frosty, isn’t it? No more porch parties this year, I guess. Did you hear Mill’s radio as you came in? He had it going a little while back. Pretty screechy, though.” “I didn’t notice it,” said Barry. Then, after a slight pause: “Say, I wish you’d tell me something,” he began. “I’ll tell you anything,” agreed Peaches, amiably. “You’ve come to the right place, too. I’m chock-full of information to-night. Is there any special subject that interests you or shall I just start off casual like?” “I want to know what’s wrong here,” replied Barry. “I mean in the house.” “Wrong in the house? Oh, I get you. It’s those snails of Toby’s. I thought first it was the plumbing, but――” “Shut up! Maybe I only imagine it, but ever since I came I――I’ve sort of fancied something was queer. About the Lyles, Peaches. Mrs. Lyle looks――oh, I don’t know, but I was wondering if there was anything wrong with Mr. Benjy――or Betty.” “I see what you mean,” responded Peaches. “I’d forgotten you weren’t here last winter, and didn’t know about Davy.” “Who’s Davy?” “David Lyle, Betty’s brother. I might as well tell you the story, I suppose. You’re sort of one of the family now. Kick the door shut, like a good chap.” Peaches hooked one foot about a chair and dragged it into position to hold his legs. Then he continued: “Davy is about twenty. He’s a decent chap, but more like Mr. Benjy than his mother. He finished high school here a year ago and went to work for Watkins and Boyle. Mr. Benjy was chief bookkeeper for them.” “That’s the factory down by the station?”