“The boat-house is locked and I haven’t the key with me, sir,” he replied without excitement.

“Of course you haven’t it,” I snapped, full of anger at his tone of irreproachable respect, and at my own helplessness. I had not even seen the place by daylights, and the woodland behind me and the lake at my feet were things of shadow and mystery. In my rage I stamped my foot.

“Lead the way back,” I roared.

I had turned toward the woodland when suddenly there stole across the water a voice,—a woman’s voice, deep, musical and deliberate.

“Really, I shouldn’t be so angry if I were you!” it said, with a lingering note on the word angry.

“Who are you? What are you doing there?” I bawled.

“Just enjoying a little tranquil thought!” was the drawling, mocking reply.

Far out upon the water I heard the dip and glide of the canoe, and saw faintly its outline for a moment; then it was gone. The lake, the surrounding wood, were an unknown world,—the canoe, a boat of dreams. Then again came the voice:

“Good night, merry gentlemen!”

“It was a lady, sir,” remarked Bates, after we had waited silently for a full minute.

“How clever you are!” I sneered. “I suppose ladies prowl about here at night, shooting ducks or into people’s houses.”

“It would seem quite likely, sir.”

I should have liked to cast him into the lake, but he was already moving away, the lantern swinging at his side. I followed him, back through the woodland to the house.

My spirits quickly responded to the cheering influence of the great library. I stirred the fire on the hearth into life and sat down before it, tired from my tramp. I was mystified and perplexed by the incident that had already marked my coming. It was possible, to be sure, that the bullet which narrowly missed my head in the little dining-room had been a wild shot that carried no evil intent. I dismissed at once the idea that it might have been fired from the lake; it had crashed through the glass with too much force to have come so far; and, moreover, I could hardly imagine even a rifleball’s finding an unimpeded right of way through so dense a strip of wood. I found it difficult to get rid of the idea that some one had taken a pot-shot at me.