crowd of theatre-goers which invariably block this part of Broadway
at the hour of eight. "We shall never know whose eulogy we have
just heard. 'A remarkable man!' There are not many of them."

"No," was my somewhat indifferent reply. It was a keen winter night
and snow was packed upon the walks in a way to throw into sharp
relief the figures of such pedestrians as happened to be walking
alone. "But it seems to me that, so far as general appearance goes,
the one in front answers your description most admirably."

I pointed to a man hurrying around the corner just ahead of us.

"Yes, he's remarkably well built. I noticed him when he came out
of the Clermont." This was a hotel we had just passed.

"But it's not only that. It's his height, his very striking
features, his expression--" I stopped suddenly, gripping George's
arm convulsively in a surprise he appeared to share. We had turned
the corner immediately behind the man of whom we were speaking and
so had him still in full view.

"What's he doing?" I asked, in a low whisper. We were only a few
feet behind. "Look! look! don't you call that curious?"

My husband stared, then uttered a low, "Rather." The man ahead of
us, presenting in every respect the appearance of a gentleman, had
suddenly stooped to the kerb and was washing his hands in the snow,
furtively, but with a vigour and purpose which could not fail to
arouse the strangest conjectures in any chance onlooker.