"O Rosalind! It's all right. A gentleman here lost his way and I'm giving him his bearings." The door closed gently, and I heard the sound of steps retreating through, the cottage. I noted the anxious look in Holbrook's face as he waited for the sounds to cease; then he addressed me again. "Mr. Donovan, this is a quiet neighborhood, and I am a peaceable man, whose worldly goods could tempt no one. There were undoubtedly others besides yourself down there at the creek, for one man couldn't have made all that row; but as you are the one I caught I must deal with you. But you have protested too much; the idea of Italian bandits on Tippecanoe Creek is creditable to your imagination, but it doesn't appeal to my common sense. I don't know about your being a guest at Glenarm House--even that is flimsy. A guest in the absence of the host is just a little too fanciful. I'm strongly disposed to take you to the calaboose at Tippecanoe village." Having been in jail several times in different parts of the world I was not anxious to add to my experiences in that direction. Moreover, I had come to this lonely house on the Tippecanoe to gain information touching the movements of Henry Holbrook, and I did not relish the idea of being thrown into a country jail by him. I resolved to meet the situation boldly. "You seem to accept my word reluctantly, even after I have saved you from being struck down at your own door. Now I will be frank with you. I had a purpose in coming here--" He stepped back and folded his arms. "Yes, I thought so." He looked about uneasily, before his eyes met mine. His hands beat nervously on his sleeves as he waited, and I resolved to bring matters to an issue by speaking his name. "_I know who you are, Mr. Holbrooke._" His hands went into his pockets again, and he stepped back and laughed. "You are a remarkably bad guesser, Mr. Donovan. If you had visited me by daylight instead of coming like a thief at midnight, you would have saved yourself much trouble. My name is displayed over the outer gate. I am Robert Hartridge, a canoe-maker." He spoke the name carelessly, his manner and tone implying that there could be no debating the subject. I was prepared for evasion but not for this cool denial of his identity. "But this afternoon, Mr. Holbrook, I chanced to follow the creek to this point and I saw--" "You probably saw that house-boat down there, that is my shop. As I tell you, I am a maker of canoes. They have, I hope, some reputation--honest hand-work; and my output is limited. I shall be deeply chagrined if you have never heard of the Hartridge canoe." He shook his head in mock grief, walked to a cabarette and took up a pipe and filled it. He was carrying off the situation well; but his coolness angered me.