"Good night, merry gentlemen!"

In Indiana, I reflected, rustics, young or old, men or

women, were probably not greatly given to salutations

of just this temper.

Bates now appeared.

"Beg pardon, sir; but your room's ready whenever

you wish to retire."

I looked about in search of a clock.

"There are no timepieces in the house, Mr. Glenarm.

Your grandfather was quite opposed to them. He had

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a theory, sir, that they were conducive, as he said, to

idleness. He considered that a man should work by his

conscience, sir, and not by the clock,-the one being

more exacting than the other."

I smiled as I drew out my watch,-as much at Bates'

solemn tones and grim lean visage as at his quotation

from my grandsire. But the fellow puzzled and annoyed

me. His unobtrusive black clothes, his smoothly-brushed

hair, his shaven face, awakened an antagonism

in me.

"Bates, if you didn't fire that shot through the window,

who did-will you answer me that?"

"Yes, sir; if I didn't do it, it's quite a large question

who did. I'll grant you that, sir."

I stared at him. He met my gaze directly without

flinching; nor was there anything insolent in his tone

or attitude. He continued: "I didn't do it, sir. I was in the pantry when I heard

the crash in the refectory window. The bullet came

from out of doors, as I should judge, sir."

The facts and conclusions were undoubtedly with

Bates, and I felt that I had not acquitted myself creditably

in my effort to fix the crime on him. My abuse of

him had been tactless, to say the least, and I now tried

another line of attack.

"Of course, Bates, I was merely joking. What's your

own theory of the matter?"

"I have no theory, sir. Mr. Glenarm always warned

me against theories. He said-if you will pardon me-

there was great danger in the speculative mind."

The man spoke with a slight Irish accent, which in

itself puzzled me. I have always been attentive to the

peculiarities of speech, and his was not the brogue of

the Irish servant class. Larry Donovan, who was English-born,

used on occasions an exaggerated Irish dialect

that was wholly different from the smooth liquid tones of

Bates. But more things than his speech were to puzzle

me in this man.

"The person in the canoe? How do you account for

her?" I asked.

"I haven't accounted for her, sir. There's no women

on these grounds, or any sort of person except ourselves."

"But there are neighbors,-farmers, people of some

kind must live along the lake."

"A few, sir; and then there's the school quite a bit

beyond your own west wall."

His slight reference to my proprietorship, my own

wall, as he put it, pleased me.

"Oh, yes; there is a school-girls?-yes; Mr. Pickering

mentioned it. But the girls hardly paddle on the

lake at night, at this season-hunting ducks-should

you say, Bates?"




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