Lindsay's face softened a little. "As far as that goes, you're quite right," he said curtly, "though it's a little late in the day. Look here, Caroline. Mr.--Mr. Barker and I don't agree very well on the best way to teach people to lock their houses. I--it seems to me a pretty poor joke. Uncle Joe never meant it to go quite so far, I'm quite sure," he concluded jerkily. "I--I want to do the best thing all round, but," looking anxiously towards her for a second, "this is a little too--a little too--" Her face cleared at his change of tone. "I know," she returned eagerly, "I know just what you mean, Lindsay. I think so, too. Anybody would think--" "That's it," he said briefly. "You say you thought so yourself at first," she added, looking uncomfortably at the bent figure in the chair, "and that made him feel--" "Well, well, I understand now," Lindsay interrupted irritably, "it's all right now, Caroline. Hadn't you better go? Mr.--Mr. Barker and I will come along later." "Oh, I'll wait and go with you, Lin," she returned, almost assured, now, "why do I have to go first?" The man lifted his head; at sight of the young fellow's nervous perplexity he smiled faintly. "Suppose you run along, Missy," he suggested; "your cousin and I want to talk business, and--and then I must be hurrying on--hurrying on," he repeated vaguely, with dazed eyes. He raised his hand to his head; Lindsay started forward, the revolver loose in his hand. "Where did you get that pin?" he cried sharply. "Give that to me." The man fingered the pin thoughtfully. "You're 'way off there," he said. "That's not--that's not--" "Not one of your 'jokes'?" Lindsay's voice rang disagreeably. "I happen to know the contrary. I'll trouble you to hand it over. I'll soon know to whom it belongs." Caroline, hanging over the sill, lost in talkative admiration of the Great Dane, was oblivious for the moment of the room behind her. "It belongs to my son," said the man. There was a moment of silence. Outside the great hound whined softly. "His name Barker, too?" Lindsay asked coldly, half rising. "No, sir. His name is James Wardwell," said the man defiantly. Lindsay sprang to his feet. "That's a dirty lie!" he shouted. He stood over the man, careless of the revolver. "And you'll pay for it, too!" Caroline stared aghast at them. "Look out for the gun," the man warned him, and, as with a flush of mortification Lindsay mastered his weapon, he added quietly, "you can't be too careful with firearms." Lindsay gritted his teeth. "You--you--" he began furiously. The man met his eyes for a second, then with a dark, slow blush, dropped his arm. The boy drew back uncertainly. "What's the good of lying like that?" he said, "how's it going to help you?" The man looked at the floor. "Don't be a fool--how's it going to?" Lindsay repeated irritably. The other did not move. "Is that the truth?" Lindsay's voice was strained and worried.