“Too bad that the lights had to go out just when they did, too,” he went on. “A most unfortunate coincidence.” “It was,” I said, with mental reservations. * * * * * An hour later at the hospital, my wound was dressed and a considerable quantity of serum injected into my bloodstream. Then I called a cab which got me back to my friends shortly after midnight. I found Dr. Dorp dozing in one of the porch chairs with a blanket around him, and Miss Van Loan, completely exhausted, asleep in the swing. “Better try to get some rest in one of these chairs,” said the doctor. “There is nothing further we can do until morning.” I was not loath to follow his suggestion, and soon drifted into a fitful, dream-haunted slumber from which I did not thoroughly awaken until the slanting rays of the morning sun struck me full in the face. For a moment I sat there, blinking in the bright light, trying to remember where I was. Then the sound of a low cough from the doorway caused me to turn. I beheld the cadaverous face and angular form of Riggs. “Good morning, sir,” he said. “Good morning, Riggs.” “Will you have your bath hot or cold, sir?” “The colder the better.” “Thank you, sir.” A few moments later I was shaving with a razor which Riggs informed me had belonged to his late master, while a sizable column of cold water roared into the tub. While I bathed and dressed, the houseman repaired the rent in my sleeve. A half-hour afterward, feeling greatly rested and refreshed, I went down to breakfast. Miss Van Loan met me in the dining room where places had been laid for two. “Dr. Dorp left early this morning for the city,” she informed me. “He asked me to have you wait here until his return this afternoon.” “He could not have set me a more pleasant task,” I replied, receiving my cup of coffee from the hand of my charming hostess. “Did he mention what urgent business took him to the city?” “Something about some investigations he wished to make, and some paraphernalia he would need for tonight,” she said. “He was in a great hurry. Wouldn’t even stop for a bite of breakfast.” “That is his way,” I replied, “when engrossed in a particularly interesting investigation. He will probably neither eat nor drink until the mystery has been solved.” “And will that be soon?” “I believe it will.” “Just what is your opinion, Mr. Evans, of the things you saw last night?” “I’m afraid,” I replied, “that my opinion at this time is not of much value. Frankly, I have been mystified. I have theories, of course, but they are, after all, only theories.” “Do you believe it was the ghost of Uncle Gordon that we saw in the living room last night?” “I don’t believe in ghosts.”