His eyes were very curious, yet he was too well bred to ask me what had happened. Placing the glass on the near-by table, I told him briefly of what had taken place. My visit to the swamp I passed over lightly, but did tell of seeing a man run through Carter's hedge, and how I had followed him. As I told of the sudden attack upon the roof of his tower, and how I was thrown over the side, he gave a gesture of horror. “Heavens, man!” he said, “some one tried to kill you.” I agreed to this, and there fell a silence. He broke it to say that there was nothing unusual in the door of the tower being open. In fact it was never locked, the village people using it for a place from which to give their visitors a view of the lake. But to hear that which had happened to me should have taken place upon his property shocked him. His dark eyes never left my face as he expressed again and again his horror. I could see that from his point of view the whole thing was unexplainable. He told me he had been reading, and he pointed out where he had thrown his book when he heard the sound of my pounding on the roof. He half laughed as he said that for a moment he was a very astonished man. He could hear some kind of a banging overhead, and at last went up the steps to the attic. There he was startled to discover that the sound came from the roof. When he heard my voice, he thought for a moment the boys of the village were playing some sort of a prank. The clock suddenly striking eleven roused me to the lateness of the hour. With a little exclamation of pain at the stiffness of my muscles I rose to my feet saying that I had better be going. He went with me to the door, then out upon the lawn. There we both turned and looked at the tower, which loomed above our heads. Saying “good night,” I went rather slowly across the grass, through the opening in the hedge, and over Carter's lawn. The large living room was a blaze of light, and I went up the steps and into the house. Carter and Ranville were sitting in two large chairs talking very earnestly. It was the Englishman who saw me first, and I half laughed as I saw his eyes sweep over my disheveled figure and his jaw drop. Catching Ranville's expression, Carter turned to see what he was looking at. Giving me one amazed look, he rose to his feet and came over in my direction. “In the name of God, Pelt, what have you been doing?” was his shocked question. I dropped into a chair and told him a drink of Scotch would be very agreeable. With one look at my face he hurried out of the room. In a second he returned with a bottle and, placing it on a stand, took three glasses from his pocket. Ranville's eyes wore a questioning look, but he made no inquiries until I had finished my drink. Even then it was Carter who broke out: “What happened, Pelt.”