Then, glancing about him, he ascended the stairs and entered the main room above.
Droop followed him closely, rubbing his hand through his hair in perplexity. This intrusion threatened to spoil his plans. It would never do to have the neighbors swarming around the Panchronicon.
The stranger threw off his cloak on entering the upper room and turned to face his host.
"I owe you sincere acknowledgment of thanks, good sir," he said, gravely.
He appeared to be about thirty-five years of age, a man of medium stature, dark of hair and eyes, with a pale, intellectual face and a close-clipped beard. His entire apparel was black, save for his well-starched ruff of moderate depth and the lace ruffles at his wrists.
"Wal, I dunno," Droop retorted. "Marry, an I hed known as thou wast not an acquaintance——"
"You would not have given me admittance?"
The calm, dark eyes gazed with disconcerting steadiness into Droop's face.
"Oh—well—I ain't sayin'——"
"I hope I have not intruded to your hurt or serious confusion, friend," said the stranger, glancing about him. "To tell the very truth, your hospitable shelter hath offered itself in the hour of need."