"Very well," he said at last, as he mastered a wild desire to rush upstairs and call Marion by name until she replied; and he spoke now in a subdued tone of voice which the butler could not hear, "of course you are in the plot, but I shall not let matters rest here. It would have been better if you had met me as a friend--as I believed you to be--of Miss Marion and Mr Robert, but I see that you are bound up with the others. And mind this: I was disposed to assist in hushing up that trouble, but as I am convinced that Miss Marion is receiving foul play, I shall leave no stone unturned to obtain speech with her, even going so far, if necessary, as to call in the aid of the police." There was a calm, grave, pitying look upon the housekeeper's countenance which literally staggered Chester, and he went out quickly and turned to the right, the butler closing the door with a bang. "He's a regular lunatic, ma'am," said the butler. "Got hold of the names from the Directory or the tradesfolk; but I'm very glad you were there." "Poor gentleman," said the housekeeper, gravely, "there seems to be some strange hallucination in his brain." CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. THE BOOKWORM TRIES TO BORE. As it happened, Chester was musing as he went down the steps. "They treat me as if I were mad. Have I got some strange notion in my head? No woman could possibly meet one with such a--Ah! good-day!" he cried quickly, for, as he was passing the next door, the grey, dreamy-looking old occupant was in the act of inserting the latch-key. He turned slowly, pushed back his rather broad-brimmed hat, and blinked at the speaker through his spectacles. "I beg your pardon," he said, rather wonderingly; "I--can't see; yes, to be sure, I remember now;" and the old man's face lit up. "I remember now. My young friend who was making inquiries. Will you step in, sir? I do not have many visitors." He threw open the door and stood smiling holding it back, giving Chester a smile of invitation which made him enter--that, in combination with the sudden thought that he might perhaps learn something about the next-door neighbours. "Really," he said frankly, "as a perfect stranger, this is somewhat of an intrusion." "Not at all, my dear young friend, not at all. Glad to see you. I lead such an old-world, lost kind of life. I am very glad to have a caller. Come in, my dear young friend, come in. No, no; don't set your hat down there; it will be covered with dust. Let me put it here. Now, then, come in." He led the way into the room on their left, and took a couple of very old folios off a chair. "A dusty place--a very dusty place; but I dare not trust servants. They have no idea of the value of books, my dear sir. I found one had torn out some pages from a very rare specimen of Wynkyn de Worde to burn under some damp fire-wood. Can't trust them--can't trust them. I've just had a very serious disappointment. Been down to an auction."