farther. Maybe our friend, the enemy, is sitting on the front porch,
sunning himself."

Past the old gateway Mark continued, intending to proceed along the
highway until he got directly in front of the old mansion. There, he
knew, he would have a good view, unobstructed by trees or shrubbery.

When the lad got to this place in the road, he paused, and stooped
over, as if tying the lace of his shoe, for it was his intention to
pass himself off, if possible, as a casual passer-by, so that in case
the mysterious man should be in the house, his suspicions would not be
aroused by seeing the youth to whom he had written the note staring in
at him.

And, while he was apparently fussing with his shoe, Mark was narrowly
eying the old house.

"Not a very inviting place," thought Mark. "I don't see why any man who
could afford anything better, would stay there--unless he has some
strong motive for lingering in this section. And that's probably what
this fellow has, and I'd like to discover it. Well, I don't see any
signs of him, so I guess I might as well go back, and wait for Jack.
He'll be along soon."

He stood up, took a good look at the house, and was about to retrace
his steps down the highway, when he saw the sagging front door of the
old mansion slowly open. It creaked on the rusty hinges, and Mark
stared with all his might as he saw a man emerge, a man who did not
look like a tramp, for his clothes were of good material and cut, and
fit him well. Nor did he wear a stubbly growth of beard, but, on the