man whose whole history and whose family history was not known was
unheard of. For such a man to be here six weeks and not enlighten us
was hardly to be dreamed of. Robert Weston had dared it. Even Tim
regarded the matter as serious.

"It is suspicious," he said, shaking his head gravely.

He was cleaning up the supper dishes at the end of the table opposite
me. By virtue of my recent return I had not fallen altogether into our
household ways as yet, and sat smoking and watching him.

"It's mighty odd," he went on. "At noon one day, about six weeks ago,
Weston rode up to the tavern on a bicycle and told Elmer Spiker he was
going to stay to dinner. He loafed about all that afternoon, and
stayed that day and the next, and ever since. First there came a trunk
for him, and then a dog. You see him about all the time, for when he
isn't walking, he's loafing around the tavern, or is over at the store,
arguing with Henry Holmes or Isaac Bolum. Yet all we know about him is
that he's undecided how long he'll stay and that he has lived in New
York."

"Has no one asked him point-blank what he is doing here?"

"No. Isaac Bolum declares every day that he is going to, but when the
time comes he breaks down. Every other means of finding out has been
taken."

"Josiah Nummler told me to-day he believed Weston was a detective."

"That was Elmer Spiker's theory. But, as Theop says, who is he