I had no sooner reached the library, where he gave me coffee, than I heard a slow, measured tread on the broad brick terrace that ran along the house on the side toward the Sound. The windows were open and the guard was in plain view. I glanced at Antoine, whose attitude toward me was that of one benevolently tolerant of stupidity. He meant to save me in spite of my obtuseness. "Tell the picket to remove himself where I won't hear him, if you please, Antoine."

He disappeared through one of the French windows and in a moment I saw the guard patrolling a walk some distance from the31 house. I now made myself comfortable with a book and a cigar, but I had hardly settled myself for a quiet hour before I heard a commotion from the direction of the gate, followed a few minutes later by a shout and a noisy colloquy, after which a roadster arrived in haste at the front door.

"Mr. Torrence,. . . Read More