John Bill expressed a wish to himself that the stranger would never find out that he did not write the editorials he professed to admire; but there was a possibility that his visitor was not sincere. He had said that he came to the town on the night train. John Bill knew this to be untrue, for he had been a passenger on that train himself, and no one else got off when he did. He was glad, however, that the determined-looking visitor did not bring a folded copy of the _Triumph_ with him for convenience in referring to an objectionable paragraph; for John Bill felt sure that such a man as the stranger looked to be would not go away without satisfaction of some kind. He was bothered a good deal in this way, by reason of his rather peculiar way of conducting the _Triumph_; but questions with reference to Davy's Bend,--he could answer them easy enough. But he did not contradict the statement of his visitor concerning the time he arrived in town, for he did not look like a man who would take kindly to a thing of that sort; so the editor meekly said he would be pleased to give him any information in his power. "I will inquire first about the man calling himself--Allan Dorris," the stranger continued, consulting a book which he took from his pocket, and pausing a little before pronouncing the name, "and I ask that this conversation be in confidence. How long has this fellow been here?" The tall stranger put up his book, and looked at the responsible head of the _Triumph_, as though he would intimate that his displeasure would be serious should his instructions be neglected. "This is October," Mr. Bill replied, counting on his fingers. "He came in the spring, some time; probably six months ago. I do not know him personally. He is a doctor, and lives in a place called 'The Locks,' on the edge of the town, in this direction," pointing his finger toward the stone church, and the house in which Allan Dorris lived. "That's about all I know of him." The peculiar pair of eyes owned by the odd man followed the direction pointed out for a moment, and then settled on John Bill again. "I have heard that he has a love affair with a young woman named--Annie Benton," the visitor said with business precision, once more consulting his book, and pausing before pronouncing the name, as he had done before. "What do you know about that?" "I have heard something of it," the editor replied, "but nothing in particular; only that he is with her a great deal, and that he meets her usually in a church near his house. The people talk about it, but I am too busy to pay much attention to such matters."