The professor was a quiet neighbour. He kept no servant, and did the work himself. The cottage possessed but two rooms, one of which was used as a kitchen, and the other as a dining-room, a bedroom, a study, and a reception-room. This last was large and airy and damp, but the professor loved it because of the solitude. He cherished a tranquil life above all things, and certainly found it in "The Refuge," as he called his tiny domicile. Through the pines he could see the country dotted with red brick villas, the outposts of London, for Troy was one of the last additions to the great city, and its surroundings were almost rural. Beside the stream grew stunted alders and tall poplars. There was no fence round the place. It was clapped down on the verge of the meadow, and girdled with the pines. A more isolated hermitage it is impossible to conceive. Tracey, who sometimes came to see Bocaros, for whose learning he had a great respect, advised draining the place, but Bocaros was obstinate. "It will last my time," he said in his rather precise way; "and I may not live here for many years." "Do you intend to leave then?" asked Tracey. "I might. There is a chance I may inherit money, and then I would live in Switzerland." "That's where the anarchists dwell," said Tracey, wondering if this queer-looking foreigner was a member of some secret society. Professor Bocaros--he obtained his title from a Greek College, as he stated--was certainly odd in his appearance. He was tall and lean and lank, apparently made of nothing but bones. Rheumatism in this damp spot would have had a fine field to rack Bocaros, but he never seemed to be ill. Always dressed in black broadcloth, rather worn, he looked like an undertaker, and moved with quite a funereal step. His face was of the fine Greek type, but so emaciated that it looked like a death's-head. With his hollow cheeks, his thin red lips, his high bald forehead, and the absence of beard and moustache, Bocaros was most unattractive. The most remarkable feature of his face was his eyes. These, under shaggy black brows, seemed to blaze like lamps. However weak and ill the man looked, his blazing eyes showed that he was full of vitality. Also, his lean hands could grip firmly, and his long legs took him over the ground at a surprising rate. Yet he ate little, and appeared to be badly nourished. Tracey, to whom Bocaros was always a source of wonder and constant speculation, confided to Gerty that he believed the professor was possessed of some restorative which served instead of food. On the whole, there was an air of mystery about the man which provoked the curiosity of the lively, inquisitive American. It would have inspired curiosity with many people also, had not Bocaros lived so retired a life. The Baldwin children called his house "Ogre Castle," and invented weird tales of the professor eating little children.