The latter has been recently bought and, though fine enough, is being added to and refitted as no man at his age would take the trouble of doing, if he hadn't a woman in mind.

The chauffeur--Holmes is his name--is no fool, and has seen for some time that Mr.X, for all his goings to and fro and the many calls he is in the habit of making on a certain young lady, did not expect him--that is, Holmes--to notice anything beyond the limits of his work, or to recognize in any way his employer's secret intentions.

But fortunately for us, this man Holmes is just one of those singularly meddlesome people whose curiosity grows with every attempt at repression; and when, coincident with that disastrous happening at the museum, all these loverlike attentions ceased and no calls were made and no presents sent, and gloom instead of cheer marked his employer's manner, he made up his mind to sacrifice a portion of his dignity rather than endure the fret of a mystery he did not understand.

This meant not only keeping his eyes open,--this he had always done,--but his ears as well.
"The young lady, whose name he never mentioned, lives not in the city but in that same Long Island village where Mr.X's country-house is in the process of renovation.

If he, Holmes, should ever be so fortunate as to be ordered to drive there again, he knew of a gravel walk running under the balcony where the two often sat.