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never seemed to take things very seriously, and had a very frequent laugh. But about a year ago I noticed a change. He didn't talk so much; if he laughed at all it didn't have the old-time colour; and he got to sitting staring at the ground. When I'd talk, he'd listen for a while; then he'd sort of drift away. I could tell by his expression that he wasn't getting a thing I was saying. Finally he took to walking the floor, biting his nails and whispering to himself."
Ashton-Kirk shook his head.
"Pretty bad," said he.
"That's what I thought. And I mentioned the fact to him. But he tried to laugh--it was a complete failure--and said there was nothing wrong. He was a little nervous; and even that, so he said, would wear off after a while.
"The day I spoke to him in this way was the last I saw of him until about two weeks ago. Then I got a letter, asking me to pack a bag and run up to Marlowe Furnace for a visit. 'The shooting's good,' says he, 'and I've got a brace of dogs that'll give you some excitement.'
"'This,' says I, to myself, 'is just about the right thing. Nothing'd suit me better now than to fuss with a dog and a gun.'
"So I wrote him I'd come at once. Marlowe Furnace, if you don't know the place, is about twenty miles out, tucked away among the hills. It was quite a place in revolutionary times; they beat out sword blades and bayonets there, and cast cannon, and the round shot to stuff them with.
"There's only a few houses, with an inn for summer visitors; and there's a little covered bridge crosses the river, just like a picture on a plate. Campe was holding out at Schwartzberg, or Castle Schwartzberg, as the people of the town call it. The castle is a regular robber-baron kind of a place, with a wall around it, towers, battlements, little windows with heavy bars, and all the rest of the fixings."
"I know it," said Ashton-Kirk. "It was built by a German officer who came over with Baron Steuben during the Revolution. When peace came, he decided he liked the section well enough to stay. He was rich, and built Schwartzberg in the effort to get some of the colour of the old land into the new."
"It was something like that," said Mr. Scanlon, nodding. "And the builder must have been related, in a way, to the Campes. Anyhow, they came into the castle some years ago. Well, to be invited to a place like that was not usual with me; and I felt a little swelled up about it.
"'You've been asked because of your qualities as a sportsman and boon companion,' says I to myself; 'the discriminating always pick you for an ace.'
"But twenty-four hours later I had learned my true status," said Scanlon, his brows corrugating, and his thick forefinger tapping the table. "I had been asked to Schwartzberg to act as a body-guard, and for nothing else in the world."
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