Baldpate Inn. There wasn't anything in it about your bringing parties of friends along."
"These are not friends I've brought along," ex plained Magee. "They re simply some more ama teur hermits who have strolled in from time to time. All have their individual latch-keys to the hermitage. And all, I believe, have credentials for you to examine."
Mr. Quimby stared in angry wonder.
"Is the world crazy?" he demanded. "Any one 'd think it was July, the way people act. The inn's closed, I tell you. It ain't running."
Professor Bolton rose from his chair.
"So you are Quimby," he said in a soothing tone. "I'm glad to meet you at last. My old friend John Bentley has spoken of you so often. I have a letter from him." He drew the care- taker to one side, and took an envelope from his pocket. The two conversed in low tones.
Quickly the girl in the corduroy suit leaned to ward Mr. Magee. She whispered, and her tone was troubled:
"Stand by me. I'm afraid I'll need your help.
"What's the matter?" inquired Magee.
