purpose.

Then, leaving the chair where it was, I betook myself out of the front
door, ostentatiously stopping to lock it and to put the key in my
pocket.

Crossing immediately to Mr. Moore's side of the street, I encountered
him as I had expected to do, at his own gateway.

"Well, what now?" he inquired, with the same exaggerated courtesy I
had noticed in him on a previous occasion. "You have the air of a
man bringing news. Has anything fresh happened in the old house?"

I assumed a frankness which seemed to impose on him.

"Do you know," I sententiously informed him, "I have a wonderful
interest in that old hearthstone; or rather in the seemingly innocent
engraving hanging over it, of Benjamin Franklin at the Court of
France. I tell you frankly that I had no idea of what would be found
behind the picture."

I saw, by his quick look, that I had stirred up a hornets' nest.
This was just what I had calculated to do.

"Behind it!" he repeated. "There is nothing behind it."

I laughed, shrugged my shoulders, and backed slowly toward the door.

"Of course, you should know," I retorted, with some condescension.
Then, as if struck by a sudden remembrance: "Oh, by the way, have