"Any sort will suit, thank you."

When the gum arrived, Average Jones, after politely offering some to
his host, chewed up a single stick thoroughly. This he rolled out
to an extremely tenuous consistency and spread it deftly across the
unused keyhole, which it completely though thinly, veiled.

"Now, what's that for?" inquired the chemist, eying the improvised
closure with some contempt.

"Don't know, exactly, yet," replied the deviser, cheerfully. "But
when queer and fatal things happen in a room and there's only one
opening, it's just as well to keep your eye on that, no matter how
small it is. Better still, perhaps, if you'd shift your office."

The fat young chemist pushed his hair back, looked out of the
window, and then turned to Average Jones. The rather flabby lines
of his face had abruptly hardened over the firm contour below.

"No. I'm hanged if I will," he said simply.

An amiable grin overspread Average Jones' face.

"You've got more nerve than prudence," he observed. "But I don't
say you aren't right. Since you're going to stick to the ship, keep
your eye on that gum. If it lets go its hold, wire me."

"All right," agreed young Mr. Dorr. "Whatever your little game is,
I'll play it. Give me your address in case you leave town."