Forty years of selling novelties and reading books had not prepared Mr. Marcus for the role of detective that was thrust upon him, but it had given him a certain resourcefulness. Between stock-taking calls at local shops during the day he made discreet inquiries, and by nightfall had amassed a considerable array of fact and opinion. The opinion was unfailingly enthusiastic. Never, Mr. Marcus thought, had a man been so instantly and universally liked in a town as small and insular as Maysville. Adrian Hall could have borrowed money from any bank, had any job or married any girl in the community. What could make so plain a man so prepossessing Mr. Marcus could not imagine. He was certain only that he liked Mrs. Ponder’s new boarder more than he had ever liked anyone in his life, and that he felt not only uncomfortable but downright guilty in spying out his personal affairs. Actual fact was harder to arrive at. Adrian Hall had come from Kansas City, some two hundred miles distant. He was a good newspaperman and Gus Willis, who operated the Maysville _Bugler_, had liked him well enough--as who hadn’t?--to hire him on sight. He was sober, industrious, efficient and considerate. No one but Jay Kirby and Mr. Marcus seemed to suspect that he harbored spiders under his shirt. And Mr. Marcus, returning from his first day of selling and inquiry to find Adrian singing _The Rose of Tralee_ with Kitty at the piano, found that repellent idea hard to believe. Until, at supper again, he happened to look up quickly from his plate and discovered that the new boarder’s elusive mole had returned. Mr. Marcus blinked and--he was quite positive, this time--it blinked genially back at him. The conviction so unnerved him that he closed his eyes to defend his composure. When he opened them again the mole had gone, together with Mr. Marcus’ lost appetite. Mr. Marcus excused himself from table and went upstairs to his room. As he had expected, Jay Kirby was waiting for him again. “Did you tell him?” Jay demanded. Mr. Marcus blinked, remembered the mole that had just blinked back at him, and shuddered. “Did I tell what to whom?” “Adrian,” Jay said. “Didn’t you tell him yet to get lost? How’re we going to keep him away from Miss Kitty unless we threaten to expose him?” “I couldn’t do that,” Mr. Marcus said. “I like him too well.” “So do I,” Jay said. “Damn him.” Mr. Marcus went over the possibilities again and found nothing of promise. “No one would believe us even if we tried to expose him,” he concluded. “We wouldn’t believe in his spiders ourselves if we hadn’t seen them.” Jay began to sweat. “What are we going to do, Mr. Marcus? We can’t brace Adrian because we like him too much, and we can’t tell Miss Kitty what’s wrong with him. How are we going to keep them from getting married?” It was a formidable question. Mr. Marcus evaded it by posing one of his own. “How do you know they’ll be married, Jay? Has any announcement been made?”