"Let me in, and I will tell you."
"Tell me who you are before I do that," I replied. "It is a strange time of night to come to one's house, and I shall not open the door until I know who you are."
"I mean only your good," was the answer.
"That is easily said," was my reply. "As it happens, my man is sleeping only a few yards away, and I have a loaded revolver close beside me. I am a good shot, too."
I scarcely know why I said this. Perhaps it was because I thought if the man were there on evil intent I might frighten him.
"I have something to tell you, something vastly important."
"Who are you? What is your name?"
"One name is as good as another. I mean only your good; let me in."
"Very well," I said, "I will open the door. If you do not play the game fairly, expect trouble."
Whereon I opened the door, and saw an old, white-bearded man. He wore a long ulster and a soft, broad-brimmed hat which partially hid his features. He came in without invitation, and I shut the door and locked it, putting the key in my pocket. He looked at me steadily, questioningly. He appeared like a man trying to form an estimate of me.