“Lest my manner of inquiry may seem strange to you,” continued the voice, “I may state that I am Professor Ravenden, formerly connected with the National Museum at Washington, D. C., and that your remark as to an unrecognised noise may have an important bearing upon certain phenomena in which I am scientifically interested.” Dick Colton groaned in spirit. “Here I’ve told a polite and innocent lie to this mysterious pedant,” he said to himself, “and of course I get caught at it.” He leaned out of the window, when a broad, spreading flare of lightning from the south showed, on the lawn beneath him, the figure of a slight, compactly built man of fifty-odd, dressed with rigorous neatness in Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, and carrying a broken lantern and a butterfly net. His thin, prim and tanned face was as indicative of character as his precise and meticulous mode of speech. “Did I break your lantern?” asked the young doctor contritely. “As I do not carry my lantern in the small of my back, you did not, sir,” returned the professor with an asperity which reminded Colton that he had put considerable muscle into his throw. “A loose rock which turned under my foot upset me,” he continued, “and the glass of my lantern was broken in the fall. The rising gale prevented my relighting it. Your opportune light, I may add, alone enabled me to locate the house.” “Perhaps my unintended rudeness may be pardoned because of my involuntary service, then,” said Colton, with the courtesy which was natural to him. There was a moment’s pause. Then, “If I may venture to impose upon your kindness,” said the man on the lawn, “will you put on some clothes and join me here? It is a matter of considerable possible importance—scientifically.” “Anything to avoid monotony,” said the other, rather grimly. “I’m here for excitement, apparently.” Worming his way into a sweater, trousers and shoes, he went downstairs and joined his new acquaintance on the veranda. “My name is Colton, Dr. Stanley Colton,” he said. “What is it you want me for?” “I wish the testimony of your younger eyes and ears,” said the other. “Would you object to a walk of a third of a mile?” “Not at all,” returned the other, becoming interested. “Shall I see if I can rustle up a lantern?” “No,” said the professor thoughtfully. “I think it would be better not. Yes; decidedly we are better without a light. Come.” He led the way, swiftly and sure-footedly, though it was pitch-dark except when the lightning lent its swift radiance. “I was out in search of a rare species of Catocala—a moth of this locality—when I heard the—the curious sound to which I hope to call your attention,” he paused to explain.