“I think so, too. But this is only the mildest and most conventional side of the thing. What I have yet to tell will make you despair of finding adjectives to express yourselves. But I can only give you the outline, as that is all that I have as yet. The first of these men is from Butte, Montana. He is an engineer in the employ of the Anaconda mine, and apparently a thoroughgoing fellow, indeed. The second is from the town of West Point, and is a sort of private coach for backward students at the Academy there. He is a rather frail young man, with near-sighted eyes and an impediment in his speech. The third is from Saginaw, Michigan. He is a small, compactly-built fellow, of about twenty-three, and with the constitution of a young bull. By profession he is a pugilist. His first words when he recovered consciousness were to inquire about the persons who assaulted him. And when he learned that none of them were in the ward, as badly used up as himself, he was the most crestfallen person I ever saw.” “Quite a variety of types and temperaments,” remarked Kenyon. “But what had they to say for themselves?” eagerly. “I don’t know that I am altogether at liberty to tell you that,” answered the young surgeon, slowly; “It’s a sort of police matter, you see. But if you’ll agree not to publish until the authorities release us, I’ll give it to you.” “We’ll keep it to ourselves,” promised Kenyon. “Very well then. But as I said before, I can only give you the outline of their statements, at that. Each of these three men is an absolute stranger to the others; yet each was summoned to New York upon the same errand, by the same man, and at the same time. Upon the night of November 12th each arrived in town, one from Butte, one from West Point, and the other from South Bend, Ind.; and each of them immediately made his way to the place of appointment--98 Selden’s Square. And as they arrived there, they were attacked murderously and left for dead. All this is strange; it only requires one more touch to complete the mystery. And we have that in the fact that the three men’s names are alike.” “And what is the name?” asked Webster. “Kenyon,” answered the young surgeon; “and a rather unusual one it is, don’t you think?” VIII THE NIGHT GROWS THICK WITH WONDER DOM MIGUAL: Hush! Walk softly. This night is filled with astonishments. --_From an Unacted Melodrama._ AT the surgeon’s words Webster fairly gasped his astonishment. But Kenyon’s face was unreadable. “A remarkable state of affairs, indeed,” said the young adventurer. “And without a doubt it has some equally surprising meaning if we could learn all the facts. But you said that you do not feel at liberty to tell us more, did you not?” “I do not know a very great deal more,” answered the surgeon. “These men are not yet able to be seen, I suppose--that is, the remaining two?” “No; and will not be for some days to come.”