"No, no," Blair declared, but Thorpe jumped up, and, going into his bedroom, closed the door behind him.

"Drop it," commanded Blair, quietly, and Shelby changed the subject.

"Mr. Crane says you had an old letter from Joshua," he began, "let's see it, will you?"

"Sure, if I can find it," and Blair began rummaging in his desk.

"Confound it, Kit, if Thorpe hasn't been poking in here among my letters!"

"I wouldn't stand for it, Gilbert. What would he do that for?"

"Hush," with a glance toward Thorpe's closed door, "never mind now. But, anyway, I can't find that letter. What do you want it for?"

"Mr. Crane thinks the one I received from Joshua looks so different that I wanted to compare them."

"Let me see yours. I can tell at once. Joshua wrote a small cramped hand----"

"This one was rather large and of loosely formed letters, but, of course, some one may have written it for him."

"Yes, Joshua hated to write----"

"Well, never mind, don't hunt for it any more. Pretty queer thing about that tobacco pouch of Peter's, don't you think?"

Blair looked up quickly. "No, I don't. I know, or at least I think I know, the explanation of that."

"You do! Well, out with it!"

"No, not now," and Blair gave a significant glance toward Thorpe's door. "But I've had my suspicions roused, and I'm going to verify them, and then I'm going to expose somebody. I can't stand any more of this sort of thing. I tell you, Kit, I know!"

Shelby looked at him in amazement.

"Well, if you won't talk now, we'll whoop it up some other time. See you to-night at the dinner?"

"Yes; get along now, and we'll meet there later."

Blair looked anxious and preoccupied. As he went toward the door with Shelby he said suddenly, "I say, Kit, will you drop Carlotta Harper?"

"Drop her!"

"Yes; stop calling on her or paying her any attention."

"I will not! Just why----"

"All right." Blair's voice was cold and sharp. "Good night."

"Good night, Gil. You're queer to-night. See you later."

While dressing for the dinner Kit Shelby thought long and earnestly of Blair's strange words and his peculiar mental att.i.tude. He thought Blair was like a man who had reached the end of his rope. A sort of exasperation had showed in his face and manner, and Shelby wondered what it meant.

He went over every word of the conversation they had had, including Blair's demand that Shelby desist from future acquaintance with Carly Harper! That was some demand, Shelby decided. And one to which he had no intention of acceding.

His ruminations resulted in his calling again at Blair's on the way to the dinner.

He found Blair nearly ready, and Thorpe, too, waiting to start.

Shelby scrutinized the faces of both men, and concluded they were still at odds. He went into Blair's bedroom, where that correct young man was carefully tying his immaculate evening tie.

"There, you made me spoil it," Blair exclaimed, as Shelby's sudden entrance caused a nervous gesture and a resultant wrinkle of the strip of lawn.

"Fiddle-de-dee! Don't be a fuss! Only men, you know. That's good enough."

But Blair selected another tie, and, while he manipulated it, Shelby fussed around the room. He could say no word in confidence to Blair, for Thorpe was impatiently tailing them to hurry, and shortly the three started off, gay of manner on the surface, whatever they might be thinking about.

They carefully avoided all mention of the Cranes, and also avoided the coming prize compet.i.tion as a subject of discussion.

This, itself, proved the rift in the lute was still recognized in the souls of Blair and Thorpe at least. The two had enough artistic temperament to feel the inevitable jealousy of each other's designs, and if Blair suspected Thorpe of appropriating his ideas, whether consciously or unintentionally, it would have the effect of making him unusually quiet, even morose, rather than to result in so much as a spoken hint of his thoughts.

Moreover, habit is strong, and the three walked off to keep their engagement with much the same gay laughter and chatter as usual.

Shelby, especially, was purposely talkative and jocular, for he wanted to get the other two in complete good humor before the feast began.

In a general way he succeeded, and though Blair was a bit quiet, Thorpe regained his ordinary temper, and the men met and mingled with their fellows, their att.i.tude properly in the key of the occasion.

It was a merry little dinner, and at last the talk drifted to Mr.

Crane's book about Peter. Everybody present had known and loved Peter Boots, and various were the opinions regarding Benjamin Crane's extraordinary work.

"All rubbish," declared one man. "Strange, how sensible men can fall for that stuff! Makes me sick!"

"Oh, come now," another urged, "there must be something in it. Benjamin Crane never made up all that."

"No, he didn't make it up, but he was fooled, gulled, taken in."

"By the medium?" asked some one.

"Partly," answered somebody else. "But I think there's been underhand work going on."

"Such as what?"

"Oh, some of Peter's people or friends helping the medium along. I've read that book with the greatest care, studied it, and I get a lot between the lines. And I think----"

"Don't say it," put in Blair, quietly. "Unless you know something, Knight, better keep still."

"But why, Blair? We're all friends of Peter here, why not discuss the thing freely and frankly?"

"Better let it alone," insisted Blair, and then the talk drifted to the coming compet.i.tion, which was even more dangerous.

"Of course n.o.body has a look-in but Blair and Thorpe," declared the talkative Knight. "They're sure to get the prize, separately or together."