"No. We'll say no more about it, my boy."
"Do you know this man?" asked Baird, puzzled.
"I fancy I do, if you describe the scar accurately."
"Oh, it was a criss-cross scar, right enough. But if he did not rob you, or wish to rob you, why did he go through your pockets."
"That," said Jerce, with emphasis, "is as much a mystery to me, as it is to you."
[CHAPTER III]
TWINS
Next morning, Clarice and her brother were at breakfast together in a cheerful little octagon-shaped room, all enamelled white panels, delicately painted wreaths of flowers and profuse gilding. More snow had fallen during the night, and through the tall, narrow windows could be seen a spotless world, almost as white as the breakfast-room itself. But a cheerful fire of oak logs blazing in the brass basket, where the bluish tiles took the smoke, and in the centre of the apartment a round table, large enough for two, was covered with dainty linen upon which stood a silver service, delicate china, and many appetizing dishes. Clarice was a notable housekeeper, and knowing that Ferdinand was fond of a good breakfast, used her best endeavours to provide him with the toothsome food he loved. And this was somewhat in the nature of a bribe.
"By jove!" said the young man, attacking a devilled kidney, "Jerce's housekeeper doesn't feed me like this."
"Then why don't you come down here oftener, Ferdy, and allow me to feed you," suggested Clarice, artfully, and filled him another cup of hot fragrant coffee.