door. Lockwin reads the rules and is thankful. He studies the lock
history of the door, as represented in the marks of old locks and
staples. Here a burglar has bored. Here a chisel has penetrated to
push back the bolt. Yes, it was a burglar, for there is now a brass
sheath to prevent another entry. Most of these breakages, however,
have been made by the hotel people, as can be seen by the transom locks.

That brings up suicides. David Lockwin has committed suicide once.
The subject is odious.

The laughter below resounds. The man above will read from the lining
of some bureau drawer.

He goes to that piece of furniture. The dressing-case is completely
empty excepting a laundry bill on pink paper.

He clutches that. He examines the printer's mark. He strives to
recall the particular printing-office.

He has not the courage to go forth into the street. He does not want
to read, except as it shall ease him from the cruel torment which he
feels.

The glasses jingle and chime. The stores across the street close their
doors and darken their show windows. Why not go below and buy the
latest novel?

The suggestion fairly sickens the man. He did not know he was so
nervous. To read ror pastime while a great city is filled with his
obsequies--he cannot do it!