With these coins gripped in her withered hands, she went to the nearest grocery store and bought four eggs, a loaf of bread, ten cents’ worth of tea, and a small glass jar of milk, and then made all possible haste back to the mansion. * * * * * I never could find out—for certainly Haworth had no idea, and what other witnesses were there?—how long it was after Mrs. Temple left him face down on the floor of his room, that he became aware of the sounding of the front-door “buzzer.” Few in his distracted state of mind would have noticed it, nor would he had not his years of mechanical training made him ultrasensitive to such sounds. Sensitive also to the condition of such mechanisms and instruments, as shown by his never failing to keep the electric bell system of the house in perfect working order, no matter what dilapidations befell elsewhere. Again the buzzer sounded on the floor below, echoing through the bare half-furnished rooms. Haworth found himself vaguely realizing that Mrs. Temple wasn’t in the house or she’d have answered the first ring. Slowly he got to his feet, descended the stairs, and crossing the great hall to the front door, opened it. * * * * * Mr. Pentecost,—who had that morning read a Sunday supplement write-up with headings about the “Hermit Inventor of West Roxbury,” and had come out there (instead of taking an afternoon express for New York as he had planned) to see if possibly some one of the devices the “Hermit Inventor” had on hand might not come in nicely for his partner’s (Mr. Harker’s) activities,—had hardly a doubt that it was the inventor himself standing before him in the doorway. And although, owing to the overshadowing elms and the roof and pillars of the portico above and behind him, he found it difficult to see with any distinctness, he got an instant impression, from a certain paleness of face that was almost luminous and a peculiarity in the young fellow’s attitude or manner, that something was wrong with him. The two stood silent a moment, for something made the commonplace salutation Pentecost had in mind seem quite inappropriate, and it was the young man who finally spoke. “What is it?” he asked in a hollow voice, slightly tremulous. “I beg your pardon,” Pentecost hastened to say. “I called to see Mr. Haworth.” “What about?” still with a quivering note of near-tragedy. “Are you Mr. Haworth?” “Yes——but I don’t want to see anybody. Please go away.” And he was turning back into the house. “One moment! It’s business—entirely business—I’m sure you’ll be interested.” “I don’t think so,” came the hollow voice out of the gloomy half light, and it was evident the young man was about to close the door. “Mr. Haworth!” Pentecost spoke sharply. “Can’t you listen half a minute? It concerns us both—and I can’t very well talk about it here.”