I Meet an Old Friend

"Mr. Glenarm! Mr. Glenarm!" he exclaimed in
broken whispers. "It is Bates, sir."

"What have you done; what has happened?" I demanded.

He put his hand to his head uncertainly and gaped
as though trying to gather his wits.

He was evidently dazed by whatever had occurred,
and I sprang around and helped him to a couch. He
would not lie down but sat up, staring and passing his
hand over his head. It was rapidly growing lighter,
and I saw a purple and black streak across his temple
where a bludgeon of some sort had struck him.

"What does this mean, Bates? Who has been in the
house?"

"I can't tell you, Mr. Glenarm."

"Can't tell me! You will tell me or go to jail!
There's been mischief done here and I don't intend to
have any nonsense about it from you. Well-?"

He was clearly suffering, but in my anger at the sight
of the wreck of the room I grasped his shoulder and
shook him roughly.

"It was early this morning," he faltered, "about two
o'clock, I heard noises in the lower part of the house.
I came down thinking likely it was you, and remembering
that you had been sick yesterday-"

"Yes, go on."

The thought of my truancy was no balm to my conscience
just then.

"As I came into the hall, I saw lights in the library.
As you weren't down last night the room hadn't been
lighted at all. I heard steps, and some one tapping with
a hammer-"