"Where's the Pirate?" he demanded. The Pirate is my housekeeper,
Mrs. Klopton, a very worthy woman, so labeled--and libeled--because
of a ferocious pair of eyes and what McKnight called a bucaneering
nose. I quietly closed the door into the hall.

"Keep your voice down, Richey," I said. "She is looking for the
evening paper to see if it is going to rain. She has my raincoat
and an umbrella waiting in the hall."

The collars being damaged beyond repair, he left them and went to
the window. He stood there for some time, staring at the blackness
that represented the wall of the house next door.

"It's raining now," he said over his shoulder, and closed the window
and the shutters. Something in his voice made me glance up, but he
was watching me, his hands idly in his pockets.

"Who lives next door?" he inquired in a perfunctory tone, after a
pause. I was packing my razor.

"House is empty," I returned absently. "If the landlord would put
it in some sort of shape---"

"Did you put those notes in your pocket?" he broke in.

"Yes." I was impatient. "Along with my certificates of registration,
baptism and vaccination. Whoever wants them will have to steal my
coat to get them."