I suggested to Carter that we had better return to the house, and then go home. He listened a moment, gave one reflective glance at the lake, and then turned to look at the closed door before us. Then, with a slight frown on his face, he said: “Perhaps you're right, Pelt. Yet it's very queer that Warren invited us to dinner and left us in the lurch like this. He must have gone away.” “Carter,” came Ranville's voice, “is Warren the sort of man who would invite a guest to dinner and then run off without a word?” His friend shook his head. “Far from it; of course, Warren does just about as he pleases. But he was very urgent about our coming. Still, he was writing his account of his discoveries in China in his library, and he might have forgotten the passing of time.” “Maybe,” drawled Ranville, “but then when it began to grow dark he would know it was late. And besides, that building is locked. The door is closed, the windows down. He would not work in the dark without lights, and it is dark now.” “That is all true,” was Carter's retort. “But what would you do? We cannot smash a man's door down simply because he did not turn up to meet his dinner guests. We had better go back to the house.” But when we reached the house, it was only to find the same situation as when we left. Not only had the owner not returned, but the housekeeper, who met us at the front door, was even more excited than before. Her round face was flushed, and when she led us into the living room, her fingers shook so much that it was a second or so before she could turn on all the lights. Carter told her that we had been to the summer house, but had seen or heard nothing of Warren. He added that the doors and windows were closed. Then he laughed and said there was no doubt Mr. Warren had been called to town, and had forgotten all about the fact we were to have been his guests. He no sooner stopped speaking, when the woman started, and there was no question that she placed very little faith in what Carter had said. She told us that if Mr. Warren had gone to town, he would have come to the house for his coat. He worked in a light summer suit, which he never wore to town. And the coat of the suit was hanging on a rack in the hall. Not only that, he never walked if he could ride. And his two cars were in the garage. And then came the statement which surprised us. She paused for a moment, only to suddenly cry: “I am afraid of that Chinaman.” There came a startled look from Ranville, and he asked in a surprised voice: “What Chinaman?” In a voice which showed all the distrust and fear that country women have of foreigners she replied: “There was a Chinaman who came to the door before six o'clock. He asked for Mr. Warren, and I showed him how to get to the library. He wore a white suit and spoke English pretty good. But I did not like his face; and ever since he came here I have been afraid—” She paused, her face twitching with emotion, then said: