The door must have been on the latch—at any rate it was not fastened, and as Eric leaned against it this impediment to his vision slowly gave way, opening a foot or so, and Joe Leslie’s terrible secret was revealed to the detective’s eyes. CHAPTER X THAT MEERSCHAUM PIPE In his time Eric Darrell had seen many strange sights, and experienced odd sensations; but the spectacle that now presented itself to his wondering eyes created a feeling within him such as had never yet come upon him. He gaped in amazement, scarcely able to believe his senses. To such a high pitch had his expectations been drawn that he looked for something of a startling nature. The shock was tremendous, and yet it rather proceeded from a sudden revulsion of feeling, than because the scene exceeded his expectations. There was but one occupant in the small apartment, upon the threshold of which he stood when the door gave way so unceremoniously. This was Joe. He was dressed differently than when Eric had seen him enter the house, and seemed to have on an old suit of clothes, while a soft hat was drawn down upon his head. He lay back in an easy chair, from which he started up in wonder and alarm as the door was thus burst open. Darrell noted one thing. In his hand Joe held a large meerschaum pipe and the white smoke was curling upward from the end of it in wreaths. Before him was the conspirator, caught in the act, red-handed. No wonder Joe turned fiery red. The inside blind was closed, but the window appeared to be open. Joe had a lamp lighted—doubtless the gas was turned off from the house, as it generally is from an empty or unoccupied building—and most men prefer to see when smoking. Over Eric Darrell there swept a wave of feeling. All his old regard for this good-natured giant rushed back to him. He held Joe’s secret. Thank heaven it was not more serious. As for Joe himself, not recognizing the other, he sprang up in a belligerent way. “Hello, here! What’s wanted?” he demanded. “Joe!” “The deuce take it—who are you?” uneasily. “Eric.” That was enough. Leslie advanced, holding out his hand in a sort of hesitating, shamefaced way. “Ah! old man, glad to see you, but I declare I didn’t know you at first.” “Nor I you, Joe,” calmly. “That’s so—I do look like a tramp, don’t I?” with a glance at his own person. “It wasn’t that, but I was amazed at finding you engaged in such a business when you declared to me you had quit smoking.” Joe turned still redder in confusion. “Darrell, you’re mistaken—I’ve never told a living man that!” he cried. “What! didn’t you refuse my cigar?” “Yes.” “And say—” “I had quit smoking cigars at the request of my wife. Well, I have, and not a cigar has passed my lips since that day.” Eric burst out laughing.