"Did you ever see such old-fashioned houses in all your born days?" asked Bess. "Look at that one over there. If our table is not in that house, then we had better abandon the antique and look in some new, first-class hotel." "That house over there is my aunt's!" shouted Daisy, laughing at Bess for making the blunder, "and I am going to tell Duncan exactly what you have said about it." Bess begged off, and made all sorts of apologies, but Daisy insisted that her cousin, the doctor, should hear what Bess thought of one of the finest old mansions in Breakwater. "Here we are!" called Daisy, pulling up on the gravel drive. "And there are Duncan and Aunt May." Out on the broad veranda stood a young man--plainly a professional, for while at a glance a girl might decide that Duncan Bennet was "up to date," still there was about him that disregard for conventionality that betokens high thinking, with no room for the consideration of trifling details of every-day life. Cora instantly said: "There! He's fine!" Ray was thinking: "How unpolished!" Bess whispered to Belle: "I see trouble ahead. Gertrude will want to take him along." Maud was "adjusting her eyes." She could not forget her famous "imploring look." But Duncan Bennet, with one bound, left the veranda, clearing the steps without touching them, and he was in front of Daisy's car dangerously soon. "Look out, Duncan!" called Daisy. "Do you want to spatter yourself all over my nice clean machine?" "Not exactly," he replied, "but I felt I should do something definite to welcome you. I suppose I may extend the kiss of peace?" "Oh!" gasped Maud. "Will he really kiss us?" "Without a doubt," replied his cousin, laughing. "Duncan Bennet is famous for his hospitality, and quite demonstrative. Don't worry, dear. He is an awfully nice fellow." CHAPTER XVIII THE CLUE Jack Kimball sat in his study, with his hands laced in his thick, dark hair. He was thinking--Jack claimed the happy faculty of being able to think of one thing at a time, and to do that thoroughly. Suddenly he jumped up, and, whistling a tune that only a happy youth knows how to originate, he dashed up the polished stairs, three steps at a time, and finally reached the third floor of his home. He was met in the hall by a matronly woman with a tray in her hands, and at his approach she stepped back to allow him to enter a room, the door of which was swung open. "Morning, Miss Brown," he said. "How's the baby?" "Doing splendidly, thank you," replied the woman, "and she is very anxious to see you. Won't you step in?" "Sure thing," answered Jack. "That's just what I came up for. I want to chat with her myself." He stepped lightly into the apartment. It was plainly furnished, with a keen appreciation of what was needed in a sick room, and what should be left out of it. Jack sank into a steamer chair beside the white bed.