At this moment the others enter; fortune has been kind to allow the
conversation to reach its legitimate end, and John, with a pleasant word
for Aunt Gwen and her husband, and only a peculiar look for the Briton,
hurries out.

In five minutes more he comes down stairs, ready for the street. To his
surprise he is stopped near the door by some one he knows--Philander
Sharpe, wearing a ridiculous helmet hat, as becomes a traveler.

"Pardon me, but I'm in a hurry," he says, as the other plucks his
sleeve.

"Oh! yes; but I'm going with you, Chicago," pipes the little professor,
shutting one eye and nodding in a very knowing manner.

"But I'm not off to paint the town red," says John, believing the other
thinks it is his intention to see the sights of Malta's capital by
night--"I have an engagement."

"In the Strada Mezzodi; eh?"

"Thunder; how did you guess it?" ejaculates the man of medicine,
astonished beyond measure.

"I am not a guesser. I know what I know, and a dused sight more than
some people think, especially my beloved wife, Gwendolin."

"What do you know--come to the point?"

"First, all about your past, and the trouble in the Craig family."