"How could I?" Mr. Bland asked. "I haven't got the combination. The safe was left open for me. That was the agreement with Rutter."
"You might have phoned us not to come," remarked Lou, with an uneasy glance around.
Mr. Cargan hit the mantelpiece with his huge fist.
"By heaven, no," he cried. "I'll lift it from under their very noses. I've done it before—I can do it now. I don't care who they are. They can't touch me. They can't touch Jim Cargan. I ain't afraid."
Mr. Magee, on the landing, whispered into his companion's ear. "I think I'll go down and greet our guests." He felt her grasp his arm suddenly, as though in fear, but he shook off her hand and debonairly descended to the group below.
"Good evening, gentlemen," he said suavely. "Welcome to Baldpate! Please don't attempt to explain—we're fed up on explanations now. You have the fifth key, of course. Welcome to our small but growing circle."
The big man advanced threateningly. Mr. Magee saw that his face was very red, his neck very thick, but his mouth a cute little cupid's bow that might well have adorned a dainty baby in the park.
"Who are you?" bellowed the mayor of Reuton in a tone meant to be cowering.
"I forget," replied Mr. Magee easily. "Bland, who am I to-day? The cast-off lover of Arabella, the fleeing artist, or the thief of portraits from a New York millionaire's home? Really, it doesn't matter. We shift our stories from time to time. As the first of the Baldpate hermits, however, it is my duty to welcome you, which I hereby do."
The mayor pointed dramatically to the stair.