I simply chose the less of two evils. The greater was to find myself
again committed to an institution. Nothing else would have induced me
to go to New Haven. I did not wish to go. To my best knowledge and
belief, I had no home there, nor did I have any relatives or friends
who would greet me upon my return. How could they, if still free, even
approach me while I was surrounded by detectives? Then, too, I had a
lurking suspicion that my attendant's offer was made in the belief that
I would not dare accept it. By taking him at his word, I knew that I
should at least have an opportunity to test the truth of many of his
statements regarding my old home. Life had become insupportable; and
back of my consent to make this experimental visit was a willingness to
beard the detectives in their own den, regardless of consequences. With
these and many other reflections I started for the train. The events of
the journey which followed are of no moment. We soon reached the New
Haven station; and, as I had expected, no relative or friend was there
to greet us. This apparent indifference seemed to support my suspicion
that my attendant had not told me the truth; but I found little
satisfaction in uncovering his deceit, for the more of a liar I proved
him to be, the worse would be my plight. We walked to the front of the
station and stood there for almost half an hour. The unfortunate, but
perfectly natural, wording of a question caused the delay.

"Well, shall we go home?" my attendant said.

How could I say, "Yes"? I had no home. I feel sure I should finally
have said, "No", had he continued to put the question in that form.
Consciously or unconsciously, however, he altered it. "Shall we go to
30 Trumbull Street?" That was what I had been waiting for. Certainly I
would go to the house designated by that number. I had come to New
Haven to see that house; and I had just a faint hope that its