"Me live here?" cried the man, as if indignant "Well, hardly! I was just passing, and, happening to see the old place, and having a fondness for antiques, I stepped in. But it is in bad shape. I should say tramps make it their hangout." "It has that name," said Mark. There was a pause for a moment, and the lad was a trifle embarrassed. The man was gazing boldly at him. "I guess I've made a mistake," thought Mark. "This can't be the man we want. He doesn't live here, and he doesn't look like him. I'd better be getting back to meet Jack." "Are you engaged at anything in particular?" questioned the man taking a few steps nearer the youth. "No, I'm not working, but I expect to take a trip, shortly, with some friends of mine," answered Mark. "Ah, is that so?" and there was polite inquiry in the man's voice. "Are you going far?" "Quite a distance." Mark wondered what the man would say if he told him he was going to the moon. "I wonder if you would do me a favor?" went on the man. "As I was passing through this old house I saw, on one of the outer doors, an old-fashioned knocker. I am a collector of antiques, and I would very much like to have that. But I need help in getting it off. I do not intend to steal it, but if it is left here some tramp may destroy it, and that would be too bad. I intend to remove it, and then hunt up the owners of this place, and purchase it from them." "It will be hard to discover who are the owners," replied Mark, "as the title is in dispute." "So much the better for me. Will you help me remove the knocker? I will pay you for your time." Mark hesitated. He did not like the man's manner, and there was a shifty, uneasy look about his eyes. Still he might be all right. But Mark did not like the idea of going into the old house with him alone. It might be safe, and, again, it might not. But the knocker was on an outside door. There could be no harm in helping him, as long as it was outside. The man saw the hesitation in the lad's manner. "It will not take us long," the stranger said. "I want you to help me pry off the knocker, as I have no screw-driver to remove it. I will pay you well." As he spoke he came nearer to Mark, and the lad noticed that the man's right hand was held behind his back. This struck Mark as rather suspicious. Suddenly he became aware of a peculiar odor in the air--a sweet, sickish odor. He started back in alarm, all his former suspicions aroused. The man seemed to leap toward him. "Look out!" suddenly cried the fellow. "Look behind you!" Involuntarily Mark turned. He saw nothing alarming. The next instant he felt himself grasped in the strong arms of the man, and a cloth that smelled strongly of the strange, sweetly sickish odor was pressed over the lad's face. "Here! Stop! Let me go! Help! Help!" cried Mark. Then his voice died out. He felt weak and sick, and sank back, an inert mass in the man's arms.