There were, however, contrary considerations. The spoon with which Peewee had eaten his preserves and the knife with which the servant had spread the butter had been marked with the letter "B." There had been "B" in the lace coverlets upon the beds and on the back of the toilet articles. Peewee started to ask the man his name, but when he saw the cold, hard eyes staring at him he was afraid. He backed to the door and, when he felt the opening behind him, backed out through it.
He halted in the hall, considering. Would the servants tell him who the man was if he asked? Would the man's name be on his front door? As he moved toward the door to open it and look, he saw upon his right the library with its shelves of books. In schools, he recalled, boys wrote their names in their books. Perhaps the old man had written his name in his. There seemed a great many of them for him to have written his name in. He went in and opened one of the books, which were all new, as though no one had ever read them, and he found a picture pasted in the front with letters under-
