"Confound this detective business, anyhow," he might have been heard to remark. Three nights later, however, he took Rosie to the play, and on the fourth night he was Droom's guest again in the rooms across the river. He was well prepared to begin the campaign of insinuation which was to affect Bansemer in the end. Sitting stiff and uncomfortable in the dingy living-room overlooking Wells Street, he watched with awe the master of the place at work on the finishing touches of a new "invention," the uses of which he did not offer to explain. He was without a coat and his shirt sleeves were rolled far above the elbows, displaying long, sinewy arms, hairy and not unlike those of the orang-outang Eddie had seen in Lincoln Park. "I've got a new way of inflicting the death penalty," the gaunt old man said, slipping into a heavy, quilted dressing-gown. "These rascals don't mind hanging or the penitentiary. But if they thought their bodies would be everlastingly destroyed by quicklime, they'd hesitate before killing their fellow-men." "But they already bury them in quicklime in England," said Eddie loftily. "Yes, but not until after they're dead," said Droom with a cackle. He grinned broadly at the sight of the youth's horror-struck face. "Go ahead and smoke, my boy. I'll light my pipe. Make yourself at home. I keep the window closed to keep out the sound of those Wells Street cars. It's good of you to come over here and cheer up an old man's evenings. I'm--I'm not used to it," he said with a wistful touch which was lost to Eddie. "You ought to have a wife and a lot of children, Mr. Droom," said Eddie with characteristic thoughtlessness. Droom stirred the fire and scowled. "Were you ever married?" "No. I don't believe in marriage," said Droom sullenly. "Gee! Why not?" "Why should I? It's the way I was brought up." "You don't mean it!" "Yes. My father was a Catholic priest." "But, Great Scott, Catholics believe in marriage." "They don't believe in their priests marrying." "Well, they DON'T marry, do they?" "No, they don't," answered Droom with a laugh that sounded like a snarl. It took Eddie two days to comprehend. "I saw the girl to-day that young Graydon Bansemer is to marry--Miss Cable." "Say, she's swell, isn't she?" said Eddie. The old man slunk into his chair. "She's very pretty. Mr. Graydon introduced me to her." "Gee!" was all Eddie could say. "They were crossing Wells Street down below here on the way home from a nickel-plater's in Indiana Street. I saw her years ago, but she didn't remember me. I didn't expect it, however." "I--how could she have forgotten you?" "Oh, she'd have forgotten her mother at that age. She was but three months old. I don't think she liked me to-day. I'm not what you call a ladies' man," grinned Elias, puffing at his pipe as he picked up the volumes on Napoleon. Eddie laughed politely but uncomfortably. "How old are you, Mr. Droom?" "I'm as old as Methuselah." "Aw, go 'way!"