his mind, and he returned home thinking of his play. The sunset still
glittering in the skies; the bare trees were beautifully distinct on the
blue background of the suburban street, and at the end of the long
perspective, a 'bus and a hansom could be seen coming towards him. As they
grew larger, his thoughts defined themselves, and the distressing problem
of his fourth act seemed to solve itself. That very evening he would sketch
out a new dramatic movement around which all the other movements of the act
would cluster. But at the corner of Fitzroy Square, within a few yards of
No. 17, he was accosted by a shabbily-dressed man, who inquired if he were
Mr. Price. On being answered in the affirmative, the shabbily-dressed man
said, 'Then I have something for ye; I have been a-watching for ye for the
last three days, but ye didn't come out; missed yer this morning: 'ere it
is;' and he thrust a folded paper into Hubert's hand.

'What is this?'

'Don't yer know?' he said with a grin; 'Messrs. Tomkins & Co., Tailors,
writ--twenty-two pound odd.'

Hubert made no answer; he put the paper in his pocket, opened the door
quietly, stole up to his room, and sat down to think. The first thing to do
was to examine into his finances. It was alarming to find that he was
breaking into his last five-pound note. True that he was close on the end
of his play, and when it was finished he would be able to draw on Ford. But
a summons to appear in the county court could not fail to do him immense
injury. He had heard of avoiding service, but he knew little of the law,
and wondered what power the service of the writ gave his creditor over him.
His instinct was to escape--hide himself where they would not be able to
find him, and so obtain time to finish his play. But he owed his landlady
money, and his departure would have to be clandestine. As he reflected on