It was evident to Magee that everybody looked upon Peters as his creature, and laid the hermit's sins at his door. He laughed.
"I'm going to head a search party shortly," he said. "Don't I detect the odor of coffee in the distance?"
"Mrs. Norton," remarked Professor Bolton dolefully, "has kindly consented to do what she can."
The girl of the station came through the dining-room door. It was evident she had no share in the general gloom that the hermit's absence cast over Baldpate. Her eyes were bright with the glories of morning on a mountain; in their depths there was no room for petty annoyances.
"Good morning," she said to Mr. Magee. "Isn't it bracing? Have you been outside? Oh, I—"
"Miss Norton—Miss Thornhill," explained Magee. "Miss Thornhill has the sixth key, you know. She came last night without any of us knowing."
With lukewarm smiles the two girls shook hands. Outwardly the glances they exchanged were nonchalant and casual, but somehow Mr. Magee felt that among the matters they established were social position, wit, cunning, guile, and taste in dress.
"May I help with the coffee?" asked Miss Thornhill.
"Only to drink it," replied the girl of the station. "It's all made now, you see."
As if in proof of this, Mrs. Norton appeared in the dining-room door with a tray, and simultaneously opened an endless monologue: