A smoothly-shaven man of middle age came up the walk and stepped upon the porch.
"How do you do?" said he; then his voice pitched two tones higher as he added: "Good heavens! What's the matter with your head?"
"A little affair in the next street," said Ashton-Kirk. "It is of no great consequence, so we'll not speak of it. I want you to stay here and keep track of everything that goes on; you will be relieved before noon to-morrow."
"Very good," said the smooth-faced man as the other led him through the hall.
"This man," said Ashton-Kirk to the old servant as they came upon her, still poring over the book, "will remain here to see that everything is well while I am gone."
She merely glanced at O'Neill, and then nodded; bending close over the book, one gaunt finger following each line of the tiny type, she went on reading and muttering in a husked sort of way that made the newcomer stare.
"Rather a queer old party, I take it," he said, as he followed his employer to the street door.
"Yes; but then," and there was a frankly baffled look in the secret agent's eyes, "all the people in this house appear to be of that kind. I fancied that I had them pretty well gauged; but now I'm beginning to find out that I've been somewhat off the track."
With this he hurried out to the car and gave a quick order to the chauffeur. Fuller, who sat with upturned collar and down-pulled hat, exclaimed solicitously at the sight of the bandaged head, and the investigator in as few words as possible told him what had happened. The eyes of the aide grew round with amazement.