It was not until he had roused the echoes within the house for the third time that he heard the rattle of a chain being taken down; then the door was opened slowly, and Chester's heart sank as he found himself face to face with a dim-eyed, sleepy-looking old man, thin, stooping, and untidy of aspect, in his long, dusty dressing-gown and slippers. He was wearing an old-fashioned pair of round glass, silver-rimmed spectacles, whose ends were secured by a piece of black ribbon; and these he pushed up on his forehead as he turned his head side-wise and peered at the visitor. "I'm afraid you knocked before, sir," he said in a quiet, dreamy tone. "Yes--yes. I ought not to have come in this unceremonious way." "Pray do not apologise," said the old gentleman, mildly. "I was busy reading, and did not hear." He pushed his glasses a little higher and smiled in a pleasant, benevolent fashion, while at the first glance Chester saw that he was quite off the scent. For he gazed past the old man into the great hall whose walls were covered with book-shelves, while parcels and piles of volumes were heaped up in every available corner. "I see that I have made a mistake," said Chester, hastily. "Indeed?" "I have come to the wrong house. I am very sorry. I am trying to find some people here." "Yes? Well, houses are very much alike. Will you step in? I can perhaps help you. I think I have a Directory somewhere--somewhere, if I can lay my hand upon it, for I seldom use such a work, and I have so many books." The old gentleman, whose appearance branded him as a dreamy, absorbed bookworm, drew back, and Chester involuntarily entered the hall, to note that with the book-cases away it would be such a place as he had visited; but while that was magnificently furnished, and pervaded by the soft glow of electric light, here all was dust and mouldering knowledge, the entrance suggesting that the rest of the house must be the same. "Pray come in," said the old man, after closing the door; and he led the way into what had been intended for a large dining-room, but had been turned by its occupant into a library, packed with books from floor to ceiling; piles were upon the tables and chairs, and heaps here and there upon the dusty old Turkey carpet. "Directory--Directory," said the old man, looking slowly round. "Books, books, books, but not the one we want." "You seem to have a large and valuable library," Chester ventured to observe. "Eh? Yes, I suppose so. The work of a long life, sir. But very dusty all over the house. What did you say was the name of the people you wanted?" "I--that is," stammered Chester, confusedly, "I do not know their name. Some patients whom I want to find out."