"Must be some mistake, sir," came the answer. "This is No. 4020,
but there's no Mr. Inkerman--"

"Indiman, not Inkerman--Mr. Esper Indiman. Look at the card."

"Never heard the name, sir."

"What! Well, then, who does live here?"

"Mr. Snell, sir. Mr. Ambrose Johnson Snell. But he's at dinner, and
I couldn't disturb him."

"Humph!" I fancy that Jeckley swore under his breath as he turned
to go. Then the outer door was closed upon him.

It was a relief, of course, to be spared the infliction of Mr.
Jeckley's society, but I could not but admit that the situation was
developing some peculiarities. Eliminating the doubtful personality
of Mr. Ambrose Johnson Snell, who was this Mr. Esper Indiman, whose
identity had been so freely admitted to me and so explicitly denied
to Jeckley? The inference was obvious that Jeckley had failed to
pass the first inspection test, and so had been turned down without
further ceremony. This reflection rather amused me; I forgot about
the incivility to which I was being subjected in the long wait, and
began to be curious about the game itself. What next?

At a quarter after eight, and then again at half after, there were
inquiries at the door for Mr. Indiman. To each caller the answer
was returned that no Mr. Indiman was known at No. 4020 Madison