"Something tells me we're going to have a pretty good time," continued Hood musingly. "I'll show you untold kingdoms, things that never were on sea or land. We shall meet people worn with the world-old struggle for things they don't need, and who are out in the tender May air looking for happiness--the only business, my dear boy, that's really worth while. And you'll be surprised, son, to find how many such people there are." "Ah, you're ready, Cassowary!" remarked Hood as they stepped out of the side door where a big touring-car was drawn up in the driveway. "Just a moment till I get my stick." Briggs had placed their bags in the car, and Deering had a moment in which to observe the chauffeur, who stood erect and touched his cap. Hood's protege proved to be a tall, dark, well-knit young fellow dressed in a well-fitting chauffeur's costume. "It's a good night for a run," Deering suggested, eying the man in the light from the door. "Fine, sir." "I hope the people in the house took good care of you." "Very good, sir." There was nothing in Cassowary's voice or manner to indicate that he was the possessor of the fortune to which Hood had referred so lightly. Deering's hastily formed impressions of Hood's chauffeur were wholly agreeable and satisfying. Hood, lingering in the hall, could be heard warning Briggs against the further accumulation of fat. He recommended a new system of reducing, and gave the flushed and stuttering butler the name of a New York specialist in dietetics whom he advised him to consult without delay. The chauffeur's lips twitched and, catching Deering's eye, he winked. Deering tapped his forehead. Cassowary shook his head. "Don't you believe it!" he ejaculated with spirit. At this moment Hood appeared on the steps, banging his recovered stick noisily as he descended. "The Barton Arms, Cassowary," he ordered, and they set off at a lively clip. III On the steps of the Barton Arms an hour later Hood and Deering ran into two men who were just leaving the inn. Hood greeted them heartily as old acquaintances and remained talking to them while Deering went to ask for rooms. "The suspicions of those fellows always tickle me," he remarked as he joined Deering at the desk, where he scrawled "R. Hood, Sherwoodville," on the register. "Detectives--rather good as the breed goes, but not men of true vision. Now and then I've been able to give them a useful hint--the slightest, mind you, and only where I could divert suspicion from some of my friends in the underworld. I always try to be of assistance to predatory genius; there are clever crooks and stupid ones; the kind who stoop to vulgar gun-work when their own stupidity gets them into a tight pinch don't appeal to me. My artistic sensibilities are affronted by clumsy work." "Perhaps--" Deering suggested with a hasty glance at the door--"maybe they're looking for me!"