"Who is there?" The words were flung at them with a sort of challenging querulousness. "Confound that dog! Who is there, I say?"
The tall, gaunt form of the millionaire presently loomed above the ornamental curves and twists of the gate.
"Roger Steele and Bob Somers," answered the coach.
"Then why didn't you say so before?"
The gate swung silently back on its well-oiled hinges. Several sharp commands promptly reduced Canis to a state of docility.
"Come in."
Neither Bob Somers nor Steele had ever visited the Barry mansion, so, as they followed the elderly gentleman along the path, they looked about them with the greatest interest.
It was a beautiful, starlit night with enough illumination to show a profusion of shrubbery and flower beds. Here and there great pines, dark and forbidding, rose like grim sentinels against the sky. Above the stone coping of the wall which surrounded the grounds, masses of buildings and scattered lights faintly indicated the town.
The stately mansion looked dull and gloomy, six heavy columns at the entrance alone showing in a lighter tone. All the windows but one were staring patches of dark, while from the exception rays of greenish light poured out, to streak across the veranda with weird effect.
Mr. Barry immediately led the two boys into his study, brightly illuminated by an electric lamp with a green shade. In the center of the large room stood a table piled high with books. Everything indicated that the millionaire had been busy writing when disturbed by the barking of Canis.