a friendship. He became an habitue at the Fried Fish Shop in Tottenham
Court Road. Whenever we questioned his taste he said that a physician
recommended fish as a tonic for the brain. But it was not his brain
that took Malim to the fried fish shop. It was his heart. He loved Kit,
and presently he married her. One would have said this was an
impossible step. Misery for Malim's people, his friends, himself, and
afterwards for Kit. But Nature has endowed both Malim and Kit with
extraordinary commonsense. He kept to his flat; she kept to her job in
the fried fish shop. Only, instead of living in, she was able to retire
after her day's work to a little house which he hired for her in the
Hampstead Road. Her work, for which she is eminently fitted, keeps her
out of mischief. His flat gives the impression to his family and the
head of his department that he is still a bachelor. Thus, all goes
well."

"I've often read in the police reports," I said, "of persons who lead
double lives, and I'm much interested in----"

Malim and Kit bore down upon us. We rose.

"It's the march past," observed the former. "Come upstairs."

"Kiddie," said Kit, "give me your arm."

At half-past four we were in Wellington Street. It was a fine, mild
morning, and in the queer light of the false dawn we betook ourselves
to the Old Hummums for breakfast. Other couples had done the same. The
steps of the Hummums facing the market harboured already a waiting
crowd. The doors were to be opened at five. We also found places on the
stone steps. The market was alive with porters, who hailed our