This was Joe.
He was dressed differently than when Eric had seen him enter the house, and seemed to have on an old suit of clothes, while a soft hat was drawn down upon his head.
He lay back in an easy chair, from which he started up in wonder and alarm as the door was thus burst open.
Darrell noted one thing.
In his hand Joe held a large meerschaum pipe and the white smoke was curling upward from the end of it in wreaths.
Before him was the conspirator, caught in the act, red-handed.
No wonder Joe turned fiery red.
The inside blind was closed, but the window appeared to be open.
Joe had a lamp lighted—doubtless the gas was turned off from the house, as it generally is from an empty or unoccupied building—and most men prefer to see when smoking.
Over Eric Darrell there swept a wave of feeling. All his old regard for this good-natured giant rushed back to him.