John Thaneford drew a long breath. "I wondered that her letters ceased so suddenly," he said coolly. "But Eunice was always doing something out of the common, and I laid it to some queer slant in her mind. You never can tell what a woman will do or won't do." The callous selfishness of the man was still rampant, and it disgusted me. Doubtless, he had no idea that I was well aware of the relations that had existed between him and the unfortunate girl. And then, to my astonishment, a new note of softness, of regret even, stole into his voice. "Do you mind opening up the room?" he asked. "So much for remembrance," he added in an undertone that I barely caught. This time my promise to Betty did occur to my mind, but already the covenant had been broken, and further infraction could not greatly signify. We walked down the corridor, and I unlocked the door and pushed it open, calling to the house-boy to bring in a lamp. "So you've cleaned everything out," remarked Thaneford, as he glanced around. "That is, about everything but the big teak desk, the leather screen, and the swivel-chair." "The desk was too cumbersome for use in the other room," I answered. "As for the chair you see it is riveted down into the floor--not even screwed in the ordinary way. I fancy it would be a job to get it free." "And no object either. Poor Eunice, you say, died here?" "Sitting in that very chair." "Like Francis Graeme before her," mused Thaneford. "Yes, and before him four other men, all masters of 'Hildebrand Hundred'--Yardley, and Randall, and Horace, and Richard. But perhaps you know these things even better than I do." "Evidently a seat perilous," he said sardonically. "No wonder you do not choose to occupy it." I don't know what mad, foolish impulse moved me to go and sit down in the big, swivel-chair, but there I presently found myself, my face reddening a trifle under the quizzical stare of John Thaneford's dull, black eyes. Effingham entered with the whiskey and glasses, and I bade him put the tray on the desk and fetch a chair for Mr. Thaneford. "Good medicine!" approved my guest as he tossed off his glass. There was a plate of biscuit at his elbow; he took one of the little round crackers and bit into it; then, with a smothered ejaculation, he spewed forth the half masticated fragments. I looked my natural surprise. "I never could abide those damned saltines," he explained, with a touch of his old glowering sulkiness. "I'll drink with you, Cousin Hugh, till the swallows homeward fly, but I'll not taste your salt; I reserve the right to withdraw the flag of truce without notice."