“I saw a man pulling out the books and tapping the inside of the shelves. He was working very fast. And the next thing I knew he let in another man through one of the terrace doors,—the one there that still stands a little open.” He flinched as be turned slightly to indicate it, and his face twitched with pain. “Never mind that; tell the rest of your story.” “Then I ran in, grabbed one of the big candelabra from the table, and went for the nearest man. They were about to begin on the chimney-breast there,—it was Mr. Glenarm’s pride in all the house,—and that accounts for my being there in front of the fireplace. They rather got the best of me, sir. “Clearly; I see they did. You had a hand-to-hand fight with them, and being two to one—” “No; there were two of us,—don’t you understand, two of us! There was another man who came running in from somewhere, and he took sides with me. I thought at first it was you. The robbers thought so, too, for one of them yelled, ‘Great God; it’s Glenarm!’ just like that. But it wasn’t you, but quite another person.” “That’s a good story so far; and then what happened?” “I don’t remember much more, except that some one soused me with water that helped my head considerably, and the next thing I knew I was staring across the table there at you.” “Who were these men, Bates? Speak up quickly!” My tone was peremptory. Here was, I felt, a crucial moment in our relations. “Well,” he began deliberately, “I dislike to make charges against a fellow man, but I strongly suspect one of the men of being—” “Yes! Tell the whole truth or it will be the worse for you.” “I very much fear one of them was Ferguson, the gardener over the way. I’m disappointed in him, sir.” “Very good; and now for the other one.” “I didn’t get my eyes on him. I had closed with Ferguson and we were having quite a lively time of it when the other one came in; then the man who came to my help mixed us all up,—he was a very lively person,— and what became of Ferguson and the rest of it I don’t know.” There was food for thought in what he said. He had taken punishment in defense of my property—the crack on his head was undeniable—and I could not abuse him or question his veracity with any grace; not, at least, without time for investigation and study. However, I ventured to ask him one question. “If you were guessing, shouldn’t you think it quite likely that Morgan was the other man?” He met my gaze squarely. “I think it wholly possible, Mr. Glenarm.” “And the man who helped you—who in the devil was he?” “Bless me, I don’t know. He disappeared. I’d like mightily to see him again.” “Humph! Now you’d better do something for your head. I’ll summon the village doctor if you say so.” “No; thank you, sir. I’ll take care of it myself.” “And now we’ll keep quiet about this. Don’t mention it or discuss it with any one.” “Certainly not, sir.”