There was a brief silence. Drake remained standing. Father, by temperament nervous, was visibly trembling. But he was no fool; he was very cautious, alert. "Well, what is it? About my daughter Dianne." "Yes. She--you have not seen her for many years?" "No." "Not even heard from her?" "No. Why?" It seemed to have been an important question to the visitor. The shadow of a triumphant smile came to his face. He said: "When you last saw her--I understand that you lived on the Maine coast, Dr. Ferrule. But I find you here now in New York--" "Who the devil are you?" Drake put in. "Wait, Drake! We live in Maine in the summer," said father. "What is it you have to tell me?" "I came," he said, "to warn you." The fellow's voice and words, for all his awkward manner, were perfectly composed. He had, even, a queer sort of dominance, as though in his own environment he were accustomed to command. His hat seemed to continue to annoy him. He took it off. He had a massive bullet head, with pale-gold hair close-clipped. Slate-blue eyes; a high-bridged nose. A solidly square chin. Strange, massive face! Queerly forceful, and, Drake thought, queerly evil. The thin lips curved into a smile. "I came," he repeated, "to warn you. I hear there are giants up near your summer home." Father said, more vehemently than he had spoken before: "What about them? Do you know where they come from? Look here, hadn't you better tell us who you are? You act very strange." The man abruptly stood up. "I will go now." It was too much for Drake. "The hell you will! Not till you've told us your business! You come here, question us, and go--" He seemed not disturbed by Drake's attack. "You excite yourself, young fellow. Dr. Ferrule, I would suggest it, you stay away from your house up there in Maine." "Thank you," said father, with his quiet irony. "Drake, wait a minute!" "Stay away because--there might be danger there for you." "From what?" Drake demanded. "From the giants." "What about them? You know anything about them?" He gestured deprecatingly. "No more than you. But I would say it, they must be dangerous." The fellow was trying to withdraw. He moved toward the door. Whatever the purpose of his visit, he seemed to have accomplished it. Father and Drake followed him. At the library doorway instinctively he stooped again. He had put on his hat. Drake noticed that he had it on backward. In the hall father said: "Is this all you've got to say?" "Yes." "You--you mentioned my daughter." He did not answer. He waited until the front door of the house was open. He kept away from Drake. Then he said abruptly: "You will never see Dianne again. Forget her." He half ran, half leaped across the porch; leaped its steps, and darted away. Drake started in pursuit, but father called him back. The running figure was in a moment lost in the shadows of the dark street. CHAPTER III _The Signal Fire_