"I can't explain just at present, Jack."
"Oh, very well," replied Mr. Paddock. "But take it from me, old man—she's a million times too good for him."
"A million," laughed Mr. Minot bitterly. "You underestimate."
Paddock stood staring with wonder at his friend.
"You lisp in riddles, my boy," he said.
"Do I?" returned Minot. "Maybe some day I'll make it all clear."
He parted from Paddock and ascended to the third floor. As he wandered through the dark passageways in search of his room, he bumped suddenly into a heavy man, walking softly. Something about the contour of the man in the dark gave him a suggestion.
"Good evening, Mr. Wall," he said.
The scurry of hurrying footsteps, but no answer. Minot went on to 389, and placed his key in the lock. It would not turn. He twisted the knob of the door—it was unlocked. He stepped inside and flashed on the light.
His small abode was in a mad disorder. The chiffonier drawers had been emptied on the floor, the bed was torn to pieces, the rug thrown in a corner. Minot smiled to himself.