“Good morning, Mr. Glenarm. I trust you rested quite well, sir.”

His figure was as austere, his tone as respectful and colorless as by night. The morning light gave him a pallid cast. He suffered my examination coolly enough; his eyes were, indeed, the best thing about him.

“This is what Mr. Glenarm called the platform. I believe it’s in Hamlet, sir.”

I laughed aloud. “Elsinore: A Platform Before the Castle.”

“It was one of Mr. Glenarm’s little fancies, you might call it, sir.”

“And the ghost,—where does the murdered majesty of Denmark lie by day?”

“I fear it wasn’t provided, sir! As you see, Mr. Glenarm, the house is quite incomplete. My late master had not carried out all his plans.”

Bates did not smile. I fancied he never smiled, and I wondered whether John Marshall Glenarm had played upon the man’s lack of humor. My grandfather had been possessed of a certain grim, ironical gift at jesting, and quite likely he had amused himself by experimenting upon his serving man.

“You may breakfast when you like, sir,”—and thus admonished I went into the refectory.

A newspaper lay at my plate; it was the morning’s issue of a Chicago daily. I was, then, not wholly out of the world, I reflected, scanning the head-lines.

“Your grandfather rarely examined the paper. Mr. Glenarm was more particularly interested in the old times. He wasn’t what you might call up to date,—if you will pardon the expression, sir.”

“You are quite right about that, Bates. He was a medievalist in his sympathies.”

“Thank you for that word, sir; I’ve frequently heard him apply it to himself. The plain omelette was a great favorite with your grandfather. I hope it is to your liking, sir.”

“It’s excellent, Bates. And your coffee is beyond praise.”

“Thank you, Mr. Glenarm. One does what one can, sir.”

He had placed me so that I faced the windows, an attention to my comfort and safety which I appreciated. The broken pane told the tale of the shot that had so narrowly missed me the night before.

“I’ll repair that to-day, sir,” Bates remarked, seeing my eyes upon the window.

“You know that I’m to spend a year on this place; I assume that you understand the circumstances” I said, feeling it wise that we should understand each other.

“Quite so, Mr. Glenarm.”

“I’m a student, you know, and all I want is to be left alone.”

This I threw in to reassure myself rather than for his information. It was just as well, I reflected, to assert a little authority, even though the fellow undoubtedly represented Pickering and received orders from him.

“In a day or two, or as soon as I have got used to the place, I shall settle down to work in the library. You may give me breakfast at seven-thirty; luncheon at one-thirty and dinner at seven.”