My story begins on the morning of December 18, 18--, while sitting at
breakfast. Let it be understood before we go further that I was a
bachelor living in lodgings. I had been left an orphan just before I
came of age, and was thus cast upon the world at a time when it is
extremely dangerous for young men to be alone. Especially was it so in
my case, owing to the fact that at twenty-one I inherited a considerable
fortune. One thing saved me from ruin, viz. a passionate love for
literature, which led me to make it my profession. I had at the time of
my story been following the bent of my inclinations for two years with a
fair amount of success, and was regarded by those who knew me as a lucky
fellow. That is all I think I need say concerning myself prior to the
time when my story opens, except to tell my name; but that will drop out
very soon. I had not made very great inroads into the omelette my
landlady had prepared for me when I heard the postman's knock, and soon
after a servant entered with a letter. One only. I had expected at least
half-a-dozen, but only one lay on the tray before me.

"Are you sure this is all, Jane?" I asked.

"Quite sure, sir," said Jane, smiling, and then with a curtsey she took
her leave.

The envelope was addressed in a bold hand-writing to--


_Justin M. Blake, Esq.,
Gower Street,
London, W._