"In my opinion," said Varney, "two things could not well be more utterly
unlike."

Peter was back in five minutes, clothed and in his right mind. His
falling foot hit the center-line of the gig with a thump, and they shot
away toward the town wharf.

They bade the boat wait their signal in the shadows a little upstream,
and jumped out upon the old and rotting landing. A street ran straight
before them, up a steep hill and into the heart of the town, and they
took it, guided by a burst of still distant laughter and hoarse shouts.
Toiling up the evil sidewalk, they looked about curiously at the town
which was to engage their attention for the next day or so. Over
everything hung that vague air of dejection and moral decay which is so
hard to define and so easy to detect. The street was lit with feeble
electric lights which did little more than nullify the moon. Grass grew
at its pleasure through the broken brick pavement; and even in that
dimness, it was very evident that the White Wing department had been
taking a long vacation.

Varney's eye took in everything. It occurred to him that this was a most
extraordinary place for the family of the exquisite and well-fixed
Elbert Carstairs to live. Hard on the heels of that came another thought
and he stopped.

"What's the matter?" said Peter.

"We simply mustn't get mixed up in any doings here, you know. Can't
afford it. Whatever is going on, our role must be that of quiet