Heaven knows what his occupation was. The money of which he was
undoubtedly possessed he seems to have spent, or at any rate some part
of it, in aping the life of a dissipated man about town. He was known
to the fair promenaders of the Empire and Alhambra, he was an _habitue_
of the places where these--er--ladies partake of supper after the
exertions of the evening. Of home life or respectable friends he seems
to have had none."

"This," Mason declared, leaning back and lighting a cigarette, "is better
than the newspapers. Go on, Colonel! Your biography may not be
sympathetic, but it is lifelike!"

The Colonel's eyes were full of a distinct and vivid light. He scarcely
heard the interruption. He was on fire with his subject.

"You see," he continued, "that the man's days were spent amongst a class
where the passions run loose, where restraint is an unknown virtue, where
self and sensuality are the upraised gods. One can easily imagine that
from amongst such a slough might spring at any time the weed of tragedy.
In other words, this man Morris Barnes moved amongst a class of people
to whom murder, if it could be safely accomplished, would be little more
than an incident."

The Colonel lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair. He was enjoying
himself immensely.

"The curious part of the affair is, though," he continued deliberately,
"that this murder, as I suppose we must call it, bears none of the
hall-marks of rude passion. On the contrary, it suggests in more ways
than one the touch of the finished artist. The man's whole evening has