I'll tell you what it is--if you think you won't be
frightened."
"Nothing frightens me," he laughed. (Garvey must understand that at all
events.) "Nothing can frighten me," he repeated.
"I'm glad of that; for it frightens _me_ a good deal sometimes."
Shorthouse feigned indifference. Yet he was aware that his heart was
beating a little quicker and that there was a sensation of chilliness in
his back. He waited in silence for what was to come.
"He has a horrible predilection for vacuums," Garvey went on presently
in a still lower voice and thrusting his face farther forward under the
lamp.
"Vacuums!" exclaimed the secretary in spite of himself. "What in the
world do you mean?"
"What I say of course. He's always tumbling into them, so that I can't
find him or get at him. He hides there for hours at a time, and for the
life of me I can't make out what he does there."
Shorthouse stared his companion straight in the eyes. What in the name
of Heaven was he talking about?
"Do you suppose he goes there for a change of air, or--or to escape?" he
went on in a louder voice.
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