of an old-fashioned house, mounted to the third
floor, stepped into a small, poorly furnished bedroom
lighted by a single gas-jet, and closed the door behind
him. Lifting his wet hat from his well-rounded head,
with its smoothly brushed, closely trimmed hair--a
head that would have looked well in bronze--he raised
the edge of the bedclothes and from underneath the
narrow cot dragged out a flat, sole-leather trunk of
English make. This he unlocked with a key fastened
to a steel chain, took out the tray, felt about among
the contents, and drew out a morocco-covered dressing-
case, of good size and of evident value, bearing on its
top a silver plate inscribed with a monogram and crest.
The trunk was then relocked and shoved under the bed.

At this moment a knock startled him.

"Come in," he called, covering the case with a corner
of the cotton quilt.

A bareheaded, coarse-featured woman with a black
shawl about her shoulders stood in the doorway. "I've
come for my money," she burst out, too angry for
preliminaries. "I'm gittin' tired of bein' put off.
You're two weeks behind."

"Only two weeks? I was afraid it was worse, my
dear madame," he answered calmly, a faint smile curling
his thin lips. "You have a better head for figures
than I. But do not concern yourself. I will pay you