For perhaps thirty seconds after the exchange of greetings, the trio in the Phipps' dining room stood where they were, practically without moving. Mr. Cabot, of course, was smiling broadly, Miss Phipps was gazing in blank astonishment from one to the other of the two men, and Galusha Bangs was staring at his relative as Robinson Crusoe stared at the famous footprint, “like one thunderstruck.”

It was Cabot who broke up the tableau. His smile became a hearty laugh.

“What's the matter, Loosh?” he demanded. “Great Scott, old man, I expected to surprise you, but I didn't expect to give you a paralytic stroke. How are you?”

He walked over and held out his hand. Galusha took it, but he looked as if he was quite unaware of doing so. “Cousin Gussie!” he repeated, faintly. Then he added his favorite exclamation. “Dear me!”

Even Martha, who by this time was used to his eccentricities, thought his conduct strange.

“Why, Mr. Bangs,” she cried, “are you sick? What is it?”

Galusha blinked, put a hand to his forehead, knocked off his spectacles, picked them up again and, in doing so, appeared to pick up a little of his normal self.

“Why, Cousin Gussie,” he observed, for the third time; adding, “I—I am surprised.”

His cousin's laugh made the little room echo.

“Good, Loosh!” he exclaimed. “I guessed as much; you looked it. Well, it is all right; I'm here in the flesh. Aren't you glad to see me?”

Galusha stammered that he was very glad to see him—yes, indeed—ah—quite so—very, of course.

“Ah—ah—won't you sit down?” he asked.

Martha could stand it no longer. “Why, mercy's sakes, Mr. Bangs,” she exclaimed, “of course he'll sit down! And he'd probably take off his coat, if you asked him.”

This pointed hint had an immediate effect. Her lodger sprang forward.

“Oh, dear me!” he cried. “I'm so sorry. Of course, of course. I BEG your pardon, Cousin Gussie.”

He hindered a little more than he helped with the removal of the coat and then stood, with the garment in his arms, peering over the heap of fur like a spectacled prairie-dog peeping out of a hole.

“Ah—sit down, sit down, please,” he begged. “I—ah—please do.”

Again Martha interrupted. “Here, let me take that coat, Mr. Bangs,” she said, and took it forthwith. Galusha, coming to himself still more, remembered the conventionalities.

“Oh, Miss Phipps,” he cried, “may I introduce my—ah—cousin, Mr. Cabot. Mr. Cabot, this is the lady who has taken charge of me, so to speak.”

Both Martha and Cabot burst out laughing.

“That sounds as if I had arrested him, doesn't it?” observed the former. “But it is all right, Mr. Cabot; I've only taken him to board.”

“I understand. Well, unless he has changed a lot since I used to know him, he needs some one to take charge of him. And it agrees with him, too. Why, Loosh, I thought you were an invalid; you look like a football player. Oh, pardon me, Miss Phipps, but don't trouble to take that coat away. I can stay only a little while. My chauffeur is waiting outside and I must get on to the hotel or I'll be late for dinner.”

Martha, who was on her way to the hall and the coat rack, turned. “Hotel?” she repeated. “What hotel, Mr. Cabot?”

“Why, the Something-or-other House over in the next town. The Robbins House, is it? Something like that.”

“Robbins House? There isn't any. Oh, do you mean Roger's Hotel at the Centre?”

“Why, yes, that is it. I was told there was a hotel here, but they forgot to tell me it was open only in the summer. What sort of place is this Roger's Hotel?”

Martha looked at him and then at Galusha.

“Altogether too bad for any relation of Mr. Bangs's to go to,” she declared. “At least, to eat supper. You and Mr. Bangs will excuse me, won't you? I'll be right back.”

She hung the fur coat upon the rack and hastened back through the dining room and out into the kitchen. Cabot took a chair and turned toward Galusha.

“She is a capable woman,” he observed, with a jerk of his head toward the kitchen door. “She has certainly taken good care of you. You look better than when I saw you last and that was—Good Lord, how long ago was it?”

Galusha replied that it was a good many years ago and then switched the subject to that which was causing painful agitation in his bosom at the moment, namely, the reason for his cousin's appearance in East Wellmouth.

Cousin Gussie laughed. “I came to see you, Loosh,” he declared. “Family ties, and all that. I thought I would run down and get you to picnic on the beach with me. How is the bathing just now?”

The chill October wind rattled the sash and furnished answer sufficient. Galusha smiled a sad sort of acknowledgment of the joke. He did not feel like smiling. The sensation of sitting on a powder barrel had returned to him, except that now there was no head to the barrel and the air was full of sparks.

“I—I did not expect you,” he faltered, for the sake of saying something. Cabot laughed again.

“Of course you didn't,” he said. “Well, to tell you the truth, I didn't come purposely to see you, old man. There has been a little business matter down here which hasn't gone as I wanted it to, and I decided, pretty much on the spur of the moment, to motor down and see what was the matter. The friend for whom I was trying to handle the thing—it is only a little matter—was coming with me, but this morning I got a wire that he was detained and couldn't make it. So, as it was a glorious day and my doctor keeps telling me to forget business occasionally, I started alone. I didn't leave town until nearly eleven, had some motor trouble, and didn't reach here until almost five. Then I found the fellow I came to see had gone somewhere, nobody knew where, and the hotel was closed for the season. I inquired about you, was given your address at the post office, and hunted you up. That's the story.”

Galusha's smile was less forced this time. He nodded reflectively.

“That explains it,” he said, slowly. “Yes, quite so. Of course, that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Why—ah—it explains why you came here, you know.”

“Well, I hope it does. That was the idea. If it doesn't I don't know what will.”

Miss Phipps entered briskly from the kitchen. She proceeded to set another place at the supper table.

“Mr. Bangs,” she said, “hadn't you better take Mr. Cabot up to your room? Probably he'd like to clean up after ridin' so far. Better go right away, because supper is nearly ready. Mr. Cabot, it is Saturday night and you'll get a Saturday night supper, beans and brown bread. I hope you won't mind.”

Galusha's relative was somewhat taken aback.

“Why, Miss Phipps,” he protested, “of course I can't think of dining here. It is extremely kind of you, but really I—”

Martha calmly interrupted. “It isn't kind at all,” she said. “And it isn't dinner, it is supper. If you don't stay I shall think it is because you don't like baked beans. I may as well tell you,” she added, “that you will get beans and nothin' else over at Elmer Roger's. They won't be as good as these, that's all. That isn't pride,” she continued, with a twinkle in her eye. “Anybody's beans are better than Elmer's, they couldn't help bein'.”

The visitor still hesitated. “Well, really, Miss Phipps,” he said, “I—Well, I should like to stay. I should, indeed. But, you see, my chauffeur is outside waiting to take me over to the Roger's House.”

Martha smiled. “Oh, no, he isn't,” she said. “He is havin' his supper in the kitchen now. Run along, Mr. Bangs, and you and your cousin hurry down as soon as you can.”

On the way upstairs Cabot asked a question.

“She is a 'reg'lar' woman, as the boys say,” he observed. “I like her. Does she always, so to speak, boss people like that?”

Galusha nodded, cheerfully. “When she thinks they need it,” he replied.

“Humph! I understand now what you meant by saying she had taken charge of you. Does she boss you?”

Another cheerful nod. “I ALWAYS need it,” answered Galusha.

Martha, of course, presided at the supper table. Primmie did not sit down with the rest. She ate in the kitchen with the Cabot chauffeur. But she entered the dining room from time to time to bring in hot brown bread or beans or cookies, or to change the plates, and each time she did so she stared at Cousin Gussie with awe in her gaze. Evidently the knowledge that the head of Cabot, Bancroft and Cabot was sitting there before her had impressed her hugely. It was from Cabot, Bancroft and Cabot, so Primmie remembered, that Mr. Bangs had procured the mammoth pile of bank notes which she had seen upon her mistress's center table. She had never actually been told where those notes came from, but she had guessed. And now the proprietor of the “money factory”—for that is very nearly what it was in her imagination—was there, sitting at the Phipps' 'dining table, eating the baked beans that she herself had helped prepare. No wonder that Primmie was awe-stricken, no wonder that she tripped over the mat corner and just escaped showering the distinguished guest with a platterful of those very beans.

Mr. Cabot seemed to enjoy his supper hugely. He was jolly, talkative, and very entertaining. He described his camp sojourn in Nevada and, according to him, life in a mountain sanitarium, under the care of a doctor and two husky male nurses, was a gorgeous joke. Martha, who, to tell the truth, had at first secretly shown a little of Primmie's awe, was soon completely at ease. Even Galusha laughed, though not as often. It was hard for him to forget the powder barrel sensation. Each time his cousin opened his mouth to speak, he dreaded to hear reference to a dangerous subject or to be asked a question which would set fire to the fuse.

The clock struck seven. Martha glanced at it and suddenly uttered an exclamation.

“My goodness gracious!” she exclaimed. “I declare, Mr. Bangs, you and I have forgotten all about that blessed seance. And half past seven was the time for it to begin. Good gracious me!”

Galusha started. “Dear me, dear me!” he cried. “So it was. I had completely forgotten it, really I had.”

He put his hand to his forehead.

“I shall have to go to it,” declared Martha. “Lulie begged me to come and the cap'n won't like it if I stay away. But I don't see that you need to, Mr. Bangs. You and your cousin can stay right here and talk and be comfortable. He is goin' to stay overnight. Oh, yes, you are, Mr. Cabot. I wouldn't let a stray cat go to Elmer Roger's hotel if I could help it, to say nothin' of Mr. Bangs' cousin. The spare room's all ready and Primmie is up there now, airin' it. She took your bag up with her; I had your chauffeur bring it in from the car.”

Her guest stared at her for a moment, laughed and shook his head.

“Well, really, Miss Phipps,” he said, “I don't know what to say to you. You rather take me off my feet. It is very kind of you and, of course, I am very much obliged; but, of course, too, I couldn't think of staying.”

“Now, please, Mr. Cabot! It isn't the least little bit of trouble, and that's honest. Mr. Bangs, you tell him to stay.”

Galusha, thus appealed to, tried to say something, but succeeded only in looking distressed.

“We WANT him to stay, don't we, Mr. Bangs?” urged Martha.

“Why—why, certainly. Oh, yes, indeed. Ah—yes,” faltered Galusha. If there was one thing which he distinctly did not want, it was just that. And there was no doubt that Cabot was wavering.

“But, you see, Miss Phipps,” said Cousin Gussie, “it will be quite impossible. My chauffeur—”

“Yes, I know. I'm awfully sorry I haven't got a room for him. I wish I had. But he can go to Elmer's. He wouldn't mind so much—at least I hope he wouldn't—and there's a garage for the car over there. I spoke to him about it and he's only waitin' for you to say the word, Mr. Cabot.”

The visitor protested a bit more and then yielded. “Frankly, Miss Phipps,” he said, “I have been wanting to stay ever since I entered your door. This house takes me back to my boyhood, when I used to visit my great-uncle Hiram down at Ostable. You remember him, Galusha, Uncle Hiram's dining room had the same wholesome, homey atmosphere that yours has, Miss Phipps. And I honestly believe I haven't enjoyed a meal since those old days as I have enjoyed this supper of yours.”

Martha colored with pleasure. Galusha, forgetting his powder barrel, beamed in sympathy.

“But there is just one more thing,” continued Cousin Gussie. “You and Bangs were going out somewhere, were expected at some—er—social affair, weren't you?”

Miss Phipps and her lodger exchanged looks. Both appeared embarrassed.

“Well—well, you see,” faltered the former. Then, after a moment's reflection, she added, “Well, I'll tell you, Mr. Cabot.”

She did tell him, briefly, of Captain Hallett's spirit obsession, of her friendship and sympathy for Lulie. She said nothing, of course, concerning the latter's love story.

“So,” she said, in conclusion, “although I haven't the least bit of belief in Marietta Hoag or any of her seances, I am sorry for Cap'n Jethro and I am very fond of Lulie. She is worried, I know, and she has asked me to be there tonight. You and Mr. Bangs will excuse me, everything considered, won't you?”

But Galusha had something to say. “Miss Martha,” he said, “I am afraid I must go, too. I promised Mr.—ah—um—I mean I promised Lulie I would be there. And this is going to be a very important seance.”

Martha turned to him.

“It is?” she asked. “Important—how? What do you mean?”

Her lodger looked as if he had said more than he intended. Also as if he did not know what to say next. But Cabot saved him the trouble.

“I wonder if I might attend this—er—function?” he suggested. “It is in the nature of a public affair, isn't it? And,” with a twinkle of the eye, “it sounds as if it might be interesting.”

Galusha and Miss Phipps regarded him gravely. Both seemed a little troubled. It was Martha who answered.

“There isn't any real reason why you shouldn't go, if you want to, Mr. Cabot,” she said. “There is only one thing—only one reason why I didn't say yes right away. I guess Mr. Bangs knows that reason and feels the same as I do about it. Don't you, Mr. Bangs?”

Galusha nodded.

“You see,” went on Miss Phipps, “Cap'n Hallett is kind of—well, queer in some ways, but he has been, in his day, a good deal of a man. And his daughter is a lovely girl and I think the world of her. I wouldn't want to hurt their feelings. If they should see you laugh—well, you understand—”

Cousin Gussie nodded.

“Don't say any more, Miss Phipps,” he replied. “It is quite all right. I'll stay in your home here and be perfectly happy.”

“But you didn't wait for me to finish. I was goin' to say that if you should laugh you must manage not to let any one hear you; especially Cap'n Jeth. Lulie has lots of common sense; she wouldn't mind except for the effect on her father, and she realizes how funny it is. But her father doesn't and—and he is pretty close to the breakin' point sometimes. So save up your laughs until we get back, please.”

“You seem to take it for granted that I shall feel like laughing. Perhaps I sha'n't. I only suggested my attending this affair because I thought it would be a novelty to me.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Well, it will be a novelty, I guess likely, and a pretty novel novelty, too. But there's one thing more, Mr. Cabot, that I want you to promise me. Don't you dare take that crowd at that seance as a fair sample of Wellmouth folks, because they're not.”

“Why, Miss Phipps—”

“Because they're not. Every town and every neighborhood, city or country, has its freaks and every freak within five miles will be over in that lighthouse parlor to-night. Just take 'em for freaks, that's all, but DON'T take 'em for samples of our people down here.” She paused, and then added, with an apologetic laugh, “I guess you think I am pretty peppery on the subject. Well, I get that way at times, particularly just after the summer is over and the city crowd has been here lookin' for 'characters.' If you could see some of the specimens who come over from the hotel, see the way they dress and act and speak! 'Oh,' one creature said to me; 'oh, Miss Phipps,' she gushed, 'I am just dyin' to meet some of your dear, funny, odd, quaint characters. Where can I find them?' 'Well,' said I, 'I think I should try the Inn, if I were you. There are funnier characters there than anywhere else I know.' Of course, I knew she was at the Inn herself, but that didn't make it any the less true.... There! I've preached my sermon. Now, Mr. Cabot, we'll go into the sittin' room and let Primmie clear off the table. Zach Bloomer—he's the assistant light keeper—is comin' to tell us when it's time to go to the seance.”

In the sitting room they talked of various things. Galusha, listening to his cousin's stories and jokes, had almost forgotten his powder barrel. And then, all at once, a spark fell, flashed, and the danger became imminent.

Said the banker, addressing Martha and referring to her lodger: “What does this cousin of mine find to do down here, Miss Phipps? How does he manage to spend so much money?”

“Money?” repeated Martha. “He—spend money? Why, I didn't know that he did, Mr. Cabot. He is very prompt in paying his board. Perhaps I charge him too much. Is that what you mean?”

“I guess not. He hasn't paid you thirteen thousand dollars for board, has he?”

“Thirteen thousand dollars! Well, I guess not—scarcely. What are you talkin' about, Mr. Cabot? What is the joke?”

“I don't know. That's one of the things which, now that I am down here, I should like to find out. Somehow or other, since he has been on the Cape, he has managed to get rid of over thirteen thousand dollars. He SAYS he has given it to some of his mummy-hunting friends, but I am rather suspicious. He hasn't been organizing a clam trust, has he, Miss Phipps?”

Plainly, Martha did not know what to make of this speech. It was a joke, of course, but just where the point of the joke was located she was not sure. To her, thirteen thousand dollars was an enormous sum. The idea that her lodger, gentle, retiring little Galusha Bangs, possessed a half of that fortune was a joke in itself. But... And then she saw Galusha's face and the expression upon it.

“Why—why, Mr. Bangs!” she exclaimed.

Cabot turned and he, too, saw the expression. He burst out laughing.

“See!” he cried. “Doesn't he look guilty? It IS a clam trust, Miss Phipps. By Jove, Loosh, you are discovered! Galusha Bangs, the Clam King! Ha, ha, ha! Look at him, Miss Phipps! Look at him! Did you ever see a plainer case of conscious guilt? Ha, ha!”

He was enjoying himself hugely. And really Galusha was a humorous spectacle. He was very red in the face, he was trembling, and he appeared to be struggling for words and finding none.

“I—I insist,” he stammered. “I—I mean I protest. It is ridiculous—ah—ah—absurd! I—I—”

His cousin broke in upon him. “Ha, ha!” he cried. “The secret is out. And you gave me to understand the mummy-hunters had it. Oh, Galusha!”

Galusha made another attempt.

“I—I told you—” he faltered. “I—I told you—”

“You told me it had gone to Egypt. But I was suspicious, old man. Why, Miss Phipps, isn't it glorious? Look at him!”

Martha was looking. Her face wore a puzzled expression.

“Isn't it glorious?” repeated Cousin Gussie.

She shrugged. “I suppose it is,” she said. “Maybe it would be more so if I knew what it was all about. And Mr. Bangs doesn't look as if he found much glory in it.”

“Of course he doesn't. Serves him right, the rascal. You see, Miss Phipps, I am supposed to take care of his money for him, and, while I was away in the mountains, my secretary sent him a check for over fourteen thousand dollars, sent it to him by mistake. I never should have done it, of course. I know him of old, where money is concerned. Well, almost immediately after receiving the check, up he comes to our Boston office and—”

“Cousin Gussie! I—I protest! I—”

“Up he comes, Miss Phipps, and draws five thousand of the fourteen thousand in cash, in money, and takes it away with him. Then—”

“Cousin Gussie! Mr. Cabot!”

The tone in which Galusha spoke was so different from his usual one, and the fact of his addressing his relative as “Mr. Cabot” so astonishing, that the latter was obliged to stop even in the full tide of his enjoyment of the joke. He turned, to find Galusha leaning forward, one hand upon the center table, and the other extending a forefinger in his direction. The finger shook a little, but its owner's countenance was set like a rock. And now it was not crimson, but white.

“Mr. Cabot,” said Galusha, “I must insist that you say no more on this matter. My personal business is—ah—presumably my own. I—I must insist. Insist—ah—absolutely; yes.”

His cousin looked at him and he returned the look. Cabot's hesitation was but momentary. His astonishment was vast, but he accepted the situation gracefully. He laughed no more.

“I beg your pardon, Galusha,” he said. “I'm sorry. I had no thought of offending you, old man. I—well, perhaps I am inclined to joke too freely. But, really, I didn't suppose—I never knew you to be—”

He paused. Galusha's expression did not change; he said nothing.

“I am very sorry,” went on the banker. “It was only thoughtlessness on my part. You'll forgive me, Loosh, I hope.”

Galusha bowed, but he did not smile. A little of the color came back to his cheeks.

“Ah—ah—Yes, certainly,” he stammered. “Certainly, quite so.”

He sat down in his chair again, but he did not look in Miss Phipps' direction. He seemed to know that she was regarding him with a fixed and startled intentness.

“Five thousand dollars!” she said, in a low tone. Neither of the men appeared to hear her. Cabot, too, sat down. And it was he who, plainly seeking for a subject to relieve the tension, spoke next.

“I was telling my cousin,” he said, addressing Martha, “that I came down here to attend to a little matter of business. The business wasn't my own exactly, but it was a commission from a friend and client of mine and he left it in my charge. He and I supposed we had an agent here in your town, Miss Phipps, who was attending to it for us, but of late he hasn't been very successful. I received a letter from Williams—from my friend; he is in the South—asking me to see if I couldn't hurry matters up a bit. So I motored down. But this agent of ours was not in. Probably you know him. His name is Pulcifer.”

Martha and Galusha started simultaneously.

“Pulcifer?” queried Martha. “Raish Pulcifer, do you mean?”

“It doesn't seem to me that his Christian name is—What did you say, Miss Phipps?”

“I said 'Raish'; that's what every one down here calls the man I mean. His real name, of course, is Horatio.”

“Horatio? That sounds more like it. I didn't hire him—Williams did that—and I have never met him, although he and Thomas, my secretary, have had some correspondence. Wait a moment, I have his name here.”

He took from his pocket a memorandum book and turned over the leaves.

“Yes,” he said, “that's it. Horatio Pulcifer. Here is his card. 'Horatio Pulcifer, Dealer in Real Estate of All Kinds; Cranberry Bog Property Bought and Sold; Mortgages Arranged For; Fire, Life and Accident Insurance; Money Loaned; Claims Adjusted; Real or Household Goods Auctioned Off or Sold Private; etc., etc.' Humph! Comprehensive person, isn't he? Is this the fellow you know, Miss Phipps?”

Martha nodded. “Yes,” she said, “I know him.”

Cabot glanced at her. “I see,” he observed. “Well, what sort of a character is he? Would you trust him?”

She hesitated. “Why—why,” she replied, “I suppose I should, if—if—”

“If he was not too far away, or around the corner, or anything like that? I understand.”

Martha was a bit disturbed. “You mustn't put words in my mouth, Mr. Cabot,” she said. “I didn't say Raish Pulcifer was dishonest.”

“No, that is true. And I beg your pardon for asking embarrassing questions. I have seen some of the fellow's letters and usually a letter is a fairly good indication of character—or lack of it. I have had my surmises concerning the ubiquitous Horatio for some time.”

Martha seemed to be thinking.

“I understood you to say he was your agent for somethin' down here, Mr. Cabot,” she said. “Sellin' somethin', was he? That kind of an agent?”

“No. As a matter of fact, he was supposed to be buying something, but he hasn't made much progress. He started out well, but of late he seems to have found trouble. I am rather surprised because we—that is, Williams—pay him a liberal commission. I judge he doesn't hate a dollar and that kind of man usually goes after it hammer and tongs. You see—But there, I presume I should not go into particulars, not yet.”

“No, no, Mr. Cabot. Of course not, of course not.”

“No.” Cabot had been turning over the leaves of the memorandum book while speaking. “And yet,” he went on, “there are one or two names here concerning which you might be able to help us. Pulcifer writes that two of the largest stockholders.... Humph!... Eh? Why, by Jove, this is remarkable! You are Miss Martha Phipps, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

“Was your father, by any chance, James H. Phipps?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I declare! This IS remarkable.... And—why, you have been speaking of a Captain—er—Jethro Somebody? Is he—He isn't Jethro Hallett, is he?”

“Why, yes. I told you his name. He is the light keeper here at Gould's Bluffs and we are all goin' over to his house in a few minutes, for the seance, you know.”

“Well, well, well! And here I have been sitting and talking with one of the very persons whom I came down here hoping to see.”

“To see? You came down here hopin' to see ME? Mr. Cabot, is this another joke?”

“Not a bit of it. If it is, the joke is on me for not identifying you with the Martha Phipps that Pulcifer writes he can't do business with. Miss Phipps, you own something we want to buy.”

“I? Somethin' you want to buy?”

“Yes. Williams wants to buy it and I am interested with him. Miss Phipps, you own two hundred and fifty shares of the stock of the Wellmouth Development Company, don't you?”

He must have been surprised at the effect of this question. Martha stared at him. Then, without speaking, she turned and looked past him at Galusha Bangs. She looked so long and so steadily that Cabot also turned and looked. What he saw caused him to utter an exclamation.

“For heaven's sakes, Loosh!” he exclaimed.

His cousin, as white as the proverbial sheet, which means much whiter than some sheets, Elmer Rogers', for example, was slowly rising from his chair. One hand was pressed against his forehead and he looked as if he were dazed, stunned, suffering from a stroke. As a matter of fact, he was suffering from all three. The spark had at last reached the powder and the barrel was in the very act of disintegrating.

“Galusha,” demanded Cousin Gussie, “are you sick? What is it?”

Galusha did not answer. Before the alarmed banker could repeat his question there came a knock at the door.

“Miss Martha,” called Primmie, in tremulous excitement. “Miss Martha, Zach he's come and he says the seance is just a-goin' to begin and Cap'n Jeth says to hurry right straight over. Zach says the old man is as tittered up and nervous as ever he see him and 'twon't do to keep him waitin' a minute. My savin' soul, no! Zach says for all hands to heave right straight ahead and come.”