"You've heard of what took place last night, I suppose?"
Burgess tapped a folded newspaper at his breast pocket.
"So has Locke," said he. "Apparently his orders are to furnish him with the papers as soon as they arrive. A man from the Institute building brought one to him more than an hour ago."
Just then Ashton-Kirk noted far up the road upon which Locke's house stood, a very small buggy, drawn by an equally small horse. In the buggy sat a man whose huge bulk seemed to bulge out beyond its sides. Arriving before Locke's house, the small horse stopped, as though from habit. Then with a mighty effort, the fat man rolled out and waddled to the gate. He pressed and re-pressed the button; but no one answered.
Ashton-Kirk looked at his assistant.
"Are you quite sure that our man is there," asked he.
Burgess chewed his straw calmly.
"I'm positive of it," said he.
The fat man now entered at the gate and going to the front door, tried it. But it was evidently fast, and he turned away. Hesitating for a moment, he laboriously approached the work shop, the roof of which could be seen through the trees. Apparently the result was the same here, for in a very few minutes he was seen to waddle back to his buggy and climb in with much effort. Then the small horse ambled forward while the fat man leaned back in great distress.
"You recognize him, do you not?" smiled Ashton-Kirk.