Shorthouse began to feel some curiosity as to what the nature of this one course might be, but he made no further remark and contented himself with noting mentally that his companion's excitement seemed to be rapidly growing beyond his control. There was something uncanny about it, and he began to wish he had chosen the alternative of the walk to the station. "I'm glad to see you never speak when Marx is in the room," said Garvey presently. "I'm sure it's better not. Don't you think so?" He appeared to wait eagerly for the answer. "Undoubtedly," said the puzzled secretary. "Yes," the other went on quickly. "He's an excellent man, but he has one drawback--a really horrid one. You may--but, no, you could hardly have noticed it yet." "Not drink, I trust," said Shorthouse, who would rather have discussed any other subject than the odious Jew. "Worse than that a great deal," Garvey replied, evidently expecting the other to draw him out. But Shorthouse was in no mood to hear anything horrible, and he declined to step into the trap. "The best of servants have their faults," he said coldly. "I'll tell you what it is if you like," Garvey went on, still speaking very low and leaning forward over the table so that his face came close to the flame of the lamp, "only we must speak quietly in case he's listening. I'll tell you what it is--if you think you won't be frightened." "Nothing frightens me," he laughed. (Garvey must understand that at all events.) "Nothing can frighten me," he repeated. "I'm glad of that; for it frightens _me_ a good deal sometimes." Shorthouse feigned indifference. Yet he was aware that his heart was beating a little quicker and that there was a sensation of chilliness in his back. He waited in silence for what was to come. "He has a horrible predilection for vacuums," Garvey went on presently in a still lower voice and thrusting his face farther forward under the lamp. "Vacuums!" exclaimed the secretary in spite of himself. "What in the world do you mean?" "What I say of course. He's always tumbling into them, so that I can't find him or get at him. He hides there for hours at a time, and for the life of me I can't make out what he does there." Shorthouse stared his companion straight in the eyes. What in the name of Heaven was he talking about? "Do you suppose he goes there for a change of air, or--or to escape?" he went on in a louder voice. Shorthouse could have laughed outright but for the expression of the other's face. "I should not think there was much air of any sort in a vacuum," he said quietly. "That's exactly what _I_ feel," continued Garvey with ever growing excitement. "That's the horrid part of it. How the devil does he live there? You see--" "Have you ever followed him there?" interrupted the secretary. The other leaned back in his chair and drew a deep sigh.