Dr. O’Grady hurried into his surgery, collected a few instruments likely to be useful, some lint, iodoform, and other things. He stuffed these into a bag, slipped on a few more clothes and an overcoat. Then he left the house. He found Mr. Red sitting bolt upright in the motor car with his hands on the steering wheel. Dr. O’Grady got in beside him. During the drive Mr. Red did not speak a single word. He did not even answer questions. Dr. O’Grady was left entirely to his own thoughts. The fresh air had thoroughly awakened him, and, being naturally a man of active mind, he thought a good deal. It occurred to him at once that though gun accidents are common enough in the daytime they very rarely occur in the middle of the night. Good men go to bed before twelve o’clock, and no men, either good or bad, habitually clean guns or go out shooting between midnight and two A.M. Dr. O’Grady began to wonder how the accident had happened. It also struck him that Mr. Red’s manners were peculiar. The man showed no sign of excitement. He was not exactly rude. He was not, so far as Dr. O’Grady could judge, in a bad temper. He was simply pompous, more pompous than any one whom Dr. O’Grady had ever met before. He seemed to be obsessed with an idea of his own enormous importance. The impression was not removed when the car drew up at Rosivera. Mr. Red blew three slow blasts on the horn, stepped out of the car, stalked up to the door, and then stood, as he had stood in front of Dr. O’Grady’s house, upright, rigid, his arms stretched stiffly along his sides. The door was opened by the foreigner with the long black beard. No word was spoken. Mr. Red raised his left hand and made some passes in the air. His bearded friend raised his left hand and imitated the passes with perfect solemnity. Mr. Red crossed the threshold, turned, and solemnly beckoned to Dr. O’Grady to follow him. “I see,” said the doctor, in a cheerful, conversational tone, “that you are all Freemasons here. It’s an interesting profession. Or should I call it a religion? I’m not one myself. I always heard it involved a man in a lot of subscriptions to charities.” Mr. Red made no reply. He crossed the hall, flung open a door with a magnificent gesture, and motioned Dr. O’Grady to enter the dining-room. The doctor hesitated for a moment. He was not a nervous man, but he was startled by what he saw. The room was brightly lit with four large lamps. The walls were hung with crimson cloth on which were embroidered curious beasts, something like crocodiles, but with much longer legs than crocodiles have, and with forked tongues. They were all bright yellow, and stood out vividly from their crimson background. “Enter,” said Mr. Red.