Average Jones laughed, "There isn't any Smith," he said.

"What do you know about it?" demanded Bertram, sitting up.

"Only what the advertisement tells me. It was written by a
foreigner; that's too obvious for argument. 'Emolument generous.'
'Apply in proper person.' Did a Smith ever write that? No. A
Borgrevsky might have, or a Greiffenhauser, or even a
Mavronovoupoulos. But never Smith."

"Well, it's nothing to me what his name is. Only I thought you
might be the aspiring young scientist he was yearning for."

"Wouldn't wonder if I were, thank you. Let's see. Bellair
Street? Where's the directory? Thanks. Yes, it is Greenwich
Village. Well, I think I'll just stroll down that way and have a
look after dinner."

Thus it was that Mr. Adrian Van Reypen Egerton Jones found
himself on a hot May evening pursuing the Adventure of Life into
the vestibule of a rather dingy old house which had once been the
abode of solemn prosperity if not actual aristocracy in the olden
days of New York City. Almost immediately the telegraphic click
of the lock apprised him that he might enter, and as he stepped
into the hallway the door of the right-hand ground-floor apartment
opened to him.

"You will please come in," said a voice.

The tone was gentle and measured. Also it was, by its accent, alien