“Few men,” replied Shorthouse, with the manner of making a great confidence, but entirely refusing to be drawn, “go through his experiences and reach his age without entertaining delusions of one kind or another.”

“Perfectly true,” said Garvey.  “Your observation is evidently keen.”

“Very keen indeed,” Shorthouse replied, taking his cue neatly; “but, of course, there are some things”—­and here he looked cautiously over his shoulder—­“there are some things one cannot talk about too circumspectly.”

“I understand perfectly and respect your reserve.”

There was a little more conversation and then Garvey got up and excused himself on the plea of superintending the preparation of the bedroom.

“It’s quite an event to have a visitor in the house, and I want to make you as comfortable as possible,” he said.  “Marx will do better for a little supervision.  And,” he added with a laugh as he stood in the doorway, “I want you to carry back a good account to Sidebotham.”

II

The tall form disappeared and the door was shut.  The conversation of the past few minutes had come somewhat as a revelation to the secretary.  Garvey seemed in full possession of normal instincts.  There was no doubt as to the sincerity of his manner and intentions.  The suspicions of the first hour began to vanish like mist before the sun.  Sidebotham’s portentous warnings and the mystery with which he surrounded the whole episode had been allowed to unduly influence his mind.  The loneliness of the situation and the bleak nature of the surroundings had helped to complete the illusion.  He began to be ashamed of his suspicions and a change commenced gradually to be wrought in his thoughts.  Anyhow a dinner and a bed were preferable to six miles in the dark, no dinner, and a cold train into the bargain.

Garvey returned presently.  “We’ll do the best we can for you,” he said, dropping into the deep armchair on the other side of the fire.  “Marx is a good servant if you watch him all the time.  You must always stand over a Jew, though, if you want things done properly.  They’re tricky and uncertain unless they’re working for their own interest.  But Marx might be worse, I’ll admit.  He’s been with me for nearly twenty years—­cook, valet, housemaid, and butler all in one.  In the old days, you know, he was a clerk in our office in Chicago.”

Garvey rattled on and Shorthouse listened with occasional remarks thrown in.  The former seemed pleased to have somebody to talk to and the sound of his own voice was evidently sweet music in his ears.  After a few minutes, he crossed over to the sideboard and again took up the decanter of whisky, holding it to the light.  “You will join me this time,” he said pleasantly, pouring out two glasses, “it will give us an appetite for dinner,” and this time Shorthouse did not refuse.  The liquor was mellow and soft and the men took two glasses apiece.