I INTERVIEW PETER I accepted the wine gratefully, and sat in silence while he served the meat, wondering at the odd character of the man, and striving to determine how best to win his confidence.

I was hungry, and, not knowing what to say, fell to work with some zest, insisting on his doing likewise.

Yet even as I disposed of the food that stolid face opposite fascinated me, and held my gaze.

The fellow was not so big a fool as he looked, for while the features remained expressionless and vacant, there was a sly glimmer to the eye, betraying an active, observant mind behind the mask.

I began to suspect some purpose in his play acting.
"What is your name, my man ?" I asked finally, made nervous by his silence.
"Peter Swanson, sir," humbly.
"Oh, a Swede ?" "By ancestry only, sir," he explained, wiping his mouth with a corner of the napkin, but not lifting his eyes from the plate.