Mr. Parmalee's Little Mystery

"Jest give that to the boss, my man," said this personage, coolly. "I understand you allow strangers to explore this old castle of your'n, and I've come quite a piece for that express purpose."

The footman gazed at him, then at the card, and then sought out Miss Silver.

"Blessed if it isn't that 'Merican that's stopping at the Vine, and that asked so many questions about Sir Everard and my lady, of Dawson, last night," he said.

Sybilla took the card curiously. It was a bonâ-fide piece of pasteboard, printed all over in little, stumpy capitals: GEORGE WASHINGTON PARMALEE, PHOTOGRAPHIC ARTIST, No. 1060 BROADWAY, UPSTAIRS.

Miss Silver laughed.

"The gentleman wants to see the house, does he? Of course he must see it, then, Higgins. And he was asking questions of Dawson last night at the inn?"

"'Eaps of questions, Miss Silver, as bold as brass, all about Sir Everard and my lady--our young lady, you know. Shall I fetch him up?"

"Certainly."

There chanced to be no other visitor at the Court, and Sybilla received Mr. Parmalee with infinite smiles and condescension.

"Beg your pardon, miss," he said, politely; "sorry to put you to so much trouble, but I calculated on seeing this old pile before I left these parts, and as they told me down at the tavern this was the day--"

"It is not the slightest trouble, I assure you," Miss Silver interposed. "I am only too happy to have a stranger come and break the quiet monotony of our life here. And, besides, it affords me double pleasure to make the acquaintance of an American--a people I intensely admire. You are the first I ever had the happiness of meeting."