"Is the judge locked up, old man?" he demanded.

"He's under rather close surveillance," I replied, smiling.

"Crocker;" he said confidentially, "see if you can't smuggle him over
here some day soon. The judge always holds good cards, and plays a
number one hand."

I promised, and escaped. On the veranda I came upon Miss Thorn
surrounded by some of her uncle's guests. I imagine that she was bored,
for she looked it.

"Mr. Crocker," she called out, "you're just the man I have been wishing
to see."

The others naturally took this for a dismissal, and she was not long in
coming to her point when we were alone.

"What is it you know about this queer but gifted genius who is here so
mysteriously?" she asked.

"Nothing whatever," I confessed. "I knew him before he thought of
becoming a genius."

"Retrogression is always painful," she said; "but tell me something about
him then."

I told her all I knew, being that narrated in these pages. "Now,"
said I, "if you will pardon a curiosity on my part, from what you
said the other evening I inferred that he closely resembles the man