But I was not yet at the end of my resources.
“May I inquire your name?” I asked, politely.
“My name is Fisher,” he said, with a greater air of consequence than ever, but no greater friendliness.
“What, Fisher himself!” I exclaimed, with pretended delight. “This is indeed a fortunate coincidence! How are you, Fisher?”
Still no answer.
I held out my hand, but this monster of British brutality paid no attention to my overture.
“Who are you?” he asked once more.
Not having yet made up my mind who I was, I thought it better to temporize.
“My explanations will take a few minutes, I am afraid,” I answered. “The hour also is late. May I call upon you in the morning?”
“I think you had better step in and explain now,” said Fisher, curtly.
They were two to one, and very close to me, while I was hampered with my British ulster. I must trust to my wits to get me safely out of this house again.
“I shall be charmed, if I am not disturbing you.”
“You are disturbing me,” said the inexorable Fisher. “In fact, you have been causing a considerable disturbance, and I should like to know the reason.”
Under these cheerful circumstances I entered Chickawungaree Villa, Fisher preceding me, and the other man, whom I now saw to be his butler, walking uncomfortably close behind.
“Step in here,” said Fisher. He showed me into what was evidently his dining-room, and then, after saying a few words in an undertone to his servant, he closed the door, drew forward a chair so as to cut off my possible line of flight, sat upon it, and breathed heavily towards me.
Figure to yourself my situation. A large, red-faced, gray-whiskered individual, in a black morning-coat and red slippers, staring stolidly at me from a meat-eating eye; name Fisher, but all other facts
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