Had these questions been raised by anyone but his brother Leonard, Mr. Ponders would have scorned to put himself to the trouble of answering them. But his brother Leonard was without exception the finest judge of character he knew. He was _inspired_, his instinct flawless. He _could_ not disregard his opinion in this case. Mr. Ponders was rather a timid, and perhaps a little old-fashioned and prejudiced person, but he prided himself on his courage and open-mindedness. Would he have a claim to either if he refused to see this Mr. Millin? He would not. Besides, it sounded as though his story might be of interest to an earnest student of psychic phenomena. And he _did_ want a butler. So he straightway sat down at his bureau in that glorious study, the pride of that famous show-place, Ponders Manor, in the County of Bucks, the ancestral seat of the Ponders line, and wrote a note to Mr. Millin in his flowing yet staccato script, asking him, were it convenient to him, to come down the following Thursday. He suggested the 11.30 train from Marylebone. A car would meet him at Great Missenden. All this would be, of course, at his, Mr. Ponders’ expense. He also wrote to his brother Leonard. Then he looked at his watch and found it was 4.30. Chess time for a man of habit, so out came the ivory pieces, the chequered board, and the book of the New York Tourney, and he began studiously analysing that mighty tilt, “Capablanca _v._ Alechin, Round I.” On the next evening he received a note from Mr. Millin respectfully announcing his intention of catching the 11.30 next Thursday. Mr. Ponders looked forward to this interview with controlled trepidation. Fancy meeting someone--all alone in his study--who but for the lack of a little evidence might have been hanged--might have been “jerked,” they called it, didn’t they? Certainly, but for Leonard, he would not have put himself in such a position. However, when 12.40 saw Mr. Millin entering the study his trepidation wavered and died. He saw an erect and rather lean figure appropriately garbed in black with a gold watch-chain. But it was Mr. Millin’s face that almost persuaded Mr. Ponders forthwith to engage him without further ado. His features were nondescript, but there was something in his expression, so candid, benign, if a little dejected, the expression of one who had known terror and danger, which encountering, he had conquered--at a cost, that went straight to Mr. Ponders’ really kind little heart. He opened the conversation with a conventional gambit, describing the circumstances--already well-known to Mr. Millin--by which the latter found himself there. Mr. Millin paid murmured thanks to the kindness of all concerned.