I was just fitting my key into the door when I noticed a man at
my elbow. I had not seen him approach, and the sudden appearance
made me start. He was a slim man, with a short brown beard and
small, gimlety blue eyes. I recognized him as the occupant of a flat
on the top floor, with whom I had passed the time of day on the
stairs.

'Can I speak to you?' he said. 'May I come in for a minute?' He
was steadying his voice with an effort, and his hand was pawing my arm.

I got my door open and motioned him in. No sooner was he
over the threshold than he made a dash for my back room, where I
used to smoke and write my letters. Then he bolted back.

'Is the door locked?' he asked feverishly, and he fastened the
chain with his own hand.

'I'm very sorry,' he said humbly. 'It's a mighty liberty, but you
looked the kind of man who would understand. I've had you in my
mind all this week when things got troublesome. Say, will you do
me a good turn?'

'I'll listen to you,' I said. 'That's all I'll promise.' I was getting
worried by the antics of this nervous little chap.

There was a tray of drinks on a table beside him, from which he
filled himself a stiff whisky-and-soda. He drank it off in three
gulps, and cracked the glass as he set it down.