CHAPTER VII

NUMBERS ONE AND SEVEN Otterleyes stood with his back to the huge log fire, a cup of coffee in his hand, a liberal splash of brandy in a very large glass upon the table by his side, and a cigar in his mouth. It was the hour which, as a rule, he most enjoyed, the hour of complete relaxation after a long day in the frosty or rain-soaked air. To-night, however, was different—different with him, and with his five guests who stood gloomily around. There was an air of tragedy in the atmosphere of the sombre, oak-panelled …