“Well, Cap, I guess you don't know me, though maybe you know some of my family. Ha, ha! Don't understand that, hey? Well, you let me in and I'll explain the joke.” The captain's reply was calm and deliberate. “I shouldn't wonder if I understood it,” he said. “Come in. Don't--” The remainder of the sentence was whispered and the listeners on the sofa could not hear it. A moment later Captain Cy entered the sitting room, followed by his caller. The latter was a stranger. He was a broad-shouldered man of medium height, with a yellowish mustache and brown hair. He was dressed in rather shabby clothes, without an overcoat, and he had a soft felt hat in his hand. The most noticeable thing about him was a slight hesitancy in his walk. He was not lame, he did not limp, yet his left foot seemed to halt for an instant as he brought it forward in the step. They learned afterwards that it had been hurt in a mine cave-in. He carried himself with a swagger, and, after his entrance, there was a perceptible aroma of alcohol in the room. He stared at the Board of Strategy and the stare was returned in full measure. Bailey and Asaph were wildly curious. They, of course, connected the stranger's arrival with the mysterious letter and the captain's perturbation of the day. But their curiosity was not to be satisfied, at least not then. “How are you, gents?” hailed the newcomer cheerfully. “Like the looks of me, do you?” Captain Cy cut off further conversation. “Ase,” he said, “this--er--gentleman and I have got some business to talk over. I know you're good enough friends of mine not to mind if I ask you to clear out. You'll understand. You WILL understand, boys, won't you?” he added, almost entreatingly. “Sartin sure!” replied Mr. Tidditt, rising hurriedly. “Don't say another word, Whit.” And the mystified Bangs concurred with a “Yes, yes! Why, of course! Didn't have nothin' that amounts to nothin' to stay for anyhow. See you to-morrer, Cy.” Outside and at the gate they stopped and looked at each other. “Well!” exclaimed Asaph. “If that ain't the strangest thing! Who was that feller? Where'd he come from? Did you notice how Cy acted? Seemed to be holdin' himself in by main strength.” “Did you smell the rum on him?” returned Bailey. “On that t'other chap, I mean? Didn't he look like a reg'lar no-account to you? And say, Ase, didn't he remind you of somebody you'd seen somewheres--kind of, in a way?” They walked home in a dazed state, asking unanswerable questions and making profitless guesses. But Asaph's final remark seemed to sum up the situation. “There's trouble comin' of this, Bailey,” he declared. “And it's trouble for Cy Whittaker, I'm afraid. Poor old Cy! Well, WE'LL stand by him, anyhow. I don't believe he'll sleep much to-night. Didn't look as though he would, did he? Who IS that feller?”