"What was that, sir?" I broke in, without much courtesy. "I was quoting from the prophet Isaiah. He was speaking of ruined Babylon, not a strange transplanted bit of the tropics, but otherwise it falls pat. Suggestive of a demon-festival. 'The hairy ones shall dance there.'" "Isaiah, you say? I used to be something of a Bible reader, but I'm afraid I don't remember the passage." He smiled sidewise at me. "But I'm translating direct from the original, Mr.--Wills is the name, eh? The original Hebrew of the prophet Isaiah, whoever he was. The classic-ridden compilers of the King James Version have satyrs dancing, and the prosaic Revised Version offers nothing more startling than goats. But Isaiah and the rest of the ancient peoples knew that there were 'hairy ones.' Perhaps you encountered one of that interesting breed tonight." "I don't want to encounter it a second time," I confessed, and again I shuddered. "That is something we will talk over more fully. What do you think of the Turkish bath accommodations you have just left behind?" "To tell you the truth, I don't know what to think. Growing green stuff and a tropical temperature, with snow outside----" He waved the riddle away. "Easily and disappointingly explained, Mr. Wills. Hot springs." I stopped still, shin-deep in wet snow. "What!" I ejaculated. "Oh, I've been there many times, in defiance of local custom and law--I'm not a native, you see." Once more his warming smile. "There are at least three springs, and the thick growth of trees makes a natural enclosure, roof and walls, to hold in the damp heat. It's not the only place of its kind in the world, Mr. Wills. But the thing you met there is a trifle more difficult of explanation. Come on home--we'll both feel better when we sit down." * * * * * We finished the journey in half an hour. Judge Pursuivant's house was stoutly made of heavy hewn timbers, somewhat resembling certain lodges I had seen in England. Inside was a large, low-ceilinged room with a hanging oil lamp and a welcome open fire. A fat blond cat came leisurely forward to greet us. Its broad, good-humored face, large eyes and drooping whiskers gave it somewhat of a resemblance to its master. "Better get your things off," advised the judge. He raised his voice. "William!" A squat negro with a sensitive brown face appeared from a door at the back of the house. "Bring in a bathrobe and slippers for this gentleman," ordered Judge Pursuivant, and himself assisted me to take off my muddy jacket. Thankfully I peeled off my other garments, and when the servant appeared with the robe I slid into it with a sigh. "I'm in your hands, Judge Pursuivant," I said. "If you want to turn me over----" "I might surrender you to an officer," he interrupted, "but never to a lawless mob. You'd better sit here for a time--and talk to me."