came　to　him　to　go　out　and　cry　aloud：　〃Here　I　am！　　Kill　me！　　I　am
  tired　and　done！〃　　For　he　had　recognized　the　purchaser　of　the　cigars
  as　one　of　the　men　who　had　left　the　125th　Street　Station　at　the　same
  time　as　he。　　He　remembered　distinctly　that　this　man　had　been　in　a
  hurry。　　Perhaps　the　whole　dizzy　affair　was　reacting　upon　his
  imagination　psychologically　and　turning　harmless　individuals　into
  enemies。
  〃Hello！〃　said　a　man's　voice　over　the　wire。
  〃Is　Mr。　Rathbone　there？〃
  〃Captain　Rathbone　is　with　his　regiment　at　Coblenz；　sir。〃
  〃Coblenz？〃
  〃Yes；　sir。　　I　do　not　expect　his　return　until　near　midsummer；　sir。
  Who　is　this　talking？〃
  〃Have　you　opened　a　cable　from　Yokohama？〃
  〃This　is　Mr。　Hawksley！〃　　The　voice　became　excited。
  〃Oh；　sir！　　You　will　come　right　away。　　I　alone　understand；　sir。　　You
  will　remember　me　when　you　see　me。　　I'm　the　captain's　butler；　sir
  …　Jenkins。　　He　cabled　back　to　give　you　the　entire　run　of　the　house
  as　long　as　you　desired　it。　　He　advised　me　to　notify　you　that　he　had
  also　prepared　his　banker　against　your　arrival。　　Have　your　luggage
  sent　here　at　once；　sir。　　Dinner　will　be　at　your　convenience。〃
  Hawksley's　body　relaxed。　　A　lump　came　into　his　throat。　　Here　was　a
  friend；　anyhow；　ready　to　serve　him　though　he　was　thousands　of　miles
  away。
  When　he　could　trust　himself　to　speak　he　said：　〃Sorry。　　It　will　be
  impossible　to　accept　the　hospitality　at　present。　　I　shall　call　in
  a　few　days；　however；　to　establish　my　identity。　　Thank　you。　　Good
  evening。〃
  〃Just　a　moment；　sir。　　I　may　have　an　important　cable　to　transmit　to
  you。　　It　would　be　wise　to　leave　me　your　address；　sir。〃
  Hawksley　hesitated　a　moment。　　After　all；　he　could　trust　this　perfect
  old　servant；　whom　he　remembered。　　He　gave　the　address。
  As　he　came　out　of　the　booth　the　girl　stretched　forth　an　arm　to
  detain　him。　　He　stopped。
  〃I'm　sorry　I　spoke　like　that；〃　she　said。　　〃But　I'm　so　tired！　　I've
  been　on　my　feet　all　day；　and　everybody's　been　barking　and　growling；
  and　if　I'd　taken　in　as　many　nickels　as　I've　passed　out　in　change　the
  boss　would　be　rich。〃
  〃Give　me　a　dozen　of　those　roses　there。〃　　She　sold　flowers　also。
  〃The　pink　ones。　　How　much？〃　he　asked。
  〃Two…fifty。〃
  He　laid　down　the　money。　　〃Never　mind　the　box。　They　are　for　you。
  Good　evening。〃
  The　girl　stared　at　the　flowers　as　Ali　Baba　must　have　stared　at　the
  cask　with　rubies。
  〃For　me！〃　she　whispered。　　〃For　nothing！〃
  Her　eyes　blurred。　　She　never　saw　Hawksley　again；　but　that　was　of
  no　importance。　　She　had　a　gentle　deed　to　put　away　in　the　lavender
  of　recollection。
  Outside　Hawksley　could　see　nothing　of　the　man　who　had　bought　the
  cigars。　　At　any　rate；　further　dodging　would　be　useless。　　He　would
  go　directly　to　his　destination。　　Old　Gregor　had　sent　him　a　duplicate
  key　to　the　apartment。　　He　could　hide　there　for　a　day　or　two；　then
  visit　Rathbone's　banker　at　his　residence　in　the　night　to　establish
  his　identity。　　Gregor　could　be　trusted　to　carry　the　wallet　and　the
  pouch　to　the　bank。　　Once　these　were　walled　in　steel　half　the　battle
  would　be　over。　　He　would　have　nothing　to　guard　thereafter　but　his
  life。　　He　laughed　brokenly。　　Nothing　but　the　clothes　he　stood　in。
  He　never　could　claim　the　belongings　he　had　been　forced　to　leave　in
  that　hotel　back　yonder。　　But　there　was　loyal　old　Gregor。　　Somebody
  would　be　honestly　glad　to　see　him。　　The　poor　old　chap！　　Astonishing；
  but　of　late　he　was　always　thinking　in　English。
  He　hailed　the　first　free　taxicab　he　saw；　climbed　in；　and　was　driven
  downtown。　　He　looked　back　constantly。　　Was　he　followed？　　There　was
  no　way　of　telling。　　The　street　was　alive　with　vehicles　tearing
  north　and　south；　with　frequent　stoppage　for　the　passage　of　those
  racing　east　and　west。　　The　destination　of　Hawksley's　cab　was　an
  old…fashioned　apartment　house　in　Eightieth　Street。
  Gregor　would　have　a　meal　ready；　and　it　struck　Hawksley　forcibly
  that　he　was　hungry；　that　he　had　not　touched　food　since　the　night
  before。　　Gregor；　valeting　in　a　hotel；　pressing　coats　and　trousers
  and　sewing　on　buttons！　　Groggy　old　world；　wasn't　it？　　Gregor；
  pressing　the　trousers　of　the　hoi　polloi！　　Gregor；　who　could　have
  sent　New　York　mad　with　that　old　Stradivarius　of　his！　　But　Gregor
  was　wise。　　Safety　for　him　lay　in　obscurity；　and　what　was　more
  obscure　than　a　hotel　valet？
  He　did　not　seek　the　elevator　but　mounted　the　first　flight　of　stairs。
  He　saw　two　doors；　one　on　each　side　of　the　landing。　　He　sought　one；
  stooped　and　peered　at　the　card　over　the　bell。　　Conover。　　Gregor's
  was　opposite。　　Having　a　key　he　did　not　knock　but　unlocked　the　door
  and　stepped　into　the　dark　hall。
  〃Stefani　Gregor？〃　he　called；　joyously。　　〃Stefani；　my　old　friend；　it
  is　I！〃
  Silence。　　But　that　was　understandable。　　Either　Gregor　had　not
  returned　from　his　labours　or　he　was　out　gathering　the　essentials
  for　the　evening　meal。　　Judging　from　the　variety　of　odours　that　swam
  the　halls　of　this　human　warren　many　suppers　were　in　the　process　of
  making；　and　the　top　flavour　was　garlic。　　He　sniffed　pleasurably。
  Not　that　the　smell　of　garlic　quickened　his　hunger。　　It　merely　sent
  his　thought　galloping　backward　a　score　of　years。　　He　saw　Stefani
  Gregor　and　a　small　boy　in　mountain　costume　footing　it　sturdily
  along　the　dizzy　goat　paths　of　the　rugged　hills；　saw　the　two　sitting
  on　some　ruddy　promontory　and　munching　black　bread　rubbed　with　garlic。
  Ambrosia！　　His　mother's　horror；　when　she　smelt　his　breath　…　as　if
  garlic　had　not　been　one　of　her　birthrights！　　His　uncle；　roaring　out
  in　his　bull's　voice　that　black　bread　and　garlic　were　good　for　little
  boys'　stomachs；　and　made　the　stuff　of　soldiers。　　Black　bread　and
  garlic　and　the　Golden　Age！
  After　he　had　flooded　the　hall　with　light　he　began　a　tour　of
  inspection。　　The　rooms　were　rather　bare　but　clean　and　orderly。
  Here　and　there　were　items　that　kept　the　homeland　green　in　the
  recollection。　　He　came　to　the　bedroom　last。　　He　hesitated　for　a
  moment　before　opening　the　door。　　The　lights　told　him　why　Gregor　had
  not　greeted　his　entering
  hail。
  The　overturned　reading　lamp；　the　broken　chair；　the　letters　and
  papers　strewn　about　the　floor；　the　rifled　bureau　drawers　…　these
  things　spoke　plainly　enough。　　Gregor　was　a　prisoner　somewhere　in
  this　vast　city；　or　he　was　dead。
  Hawksley　stood　motionless　for　a　space。　　And　he　must　remain　here　at
  least　for　a　night　and　a　day！　　He　would　not　dare　risk　another　hotel。
  He　could；　of　course；　go　to　the　splendid　Rathbone　place；　but　it　would
  not　be　fair　to　invite　tragedy　across　that　threshold。
  A　ball　of　crushed　paper　at　his　feet　attracted　his　attention。　　He
  kicked　it　absently；　followed　and　picked　it　up；　his　thought　on　other
  things。　　He　was　aimlessly　smoothing　it　out　when　an　English　word
  caught　his　eye。　　English！　　He　smoothed　the　crumpled　sheet　and　read：
  If　you　find　this　it　is　the　will　of　God。　　I　have　been　watched
  for　several　days；　and　am　now　convinced　that　they　have　always
  known　I　was　here　but　were　leaving　me　alone　for　some　unknown
  purpose。　　I　roll　this　ball　because　anything　folded　and　left
  in　a　conspicuous　place　would　be　useless　should　they　come　for
  me。　　I　understand。　　It　is　you；　poor　boy。　　They　are　watching
  me　in　hopes　of　catching　you；　and　I've　no　way　to　warn　you　not
  to　come　here。　　It　was　after　I　sent　you　the　key　that　I　learned
  the　truth。　　God　bless　you　and　guard　you！
  STEFANI。
  Hawksley　tore　the　note　into　scraps。　　Food　and　sleep。　　He　walked
  toward　the　kitchen；　musing。　　What　an　odd　mixture　he　was！
  Superficially　British；　with　the　British　outlook；　and　yet　filled　with
  the　dancing　blood　of　the　Latin　and　the　cold；　phlegmatic　blood　of　the
  Slav。　　He　was　like　a　schoolmaster　with　two　students　too　big　for　him
  to　handle。　　Always　the　Latin　was　dispossessing　the　Slav　or　the　Slav
  was　ousting　the　Latin。　　With　fatalistic　confidence　that　nevermore
  would　he　look　upon　the　kindly　face　of　Stefani　Gregor；　alive；　he　went
  in　search　of　food。
  Not　a　crust　did　he　find。　　In　the　ice…chest　there　was　a　bottle　of
  milk　…　soured。　　Hungry；　and　not　a　crumb！　　And　he　dared　not　go　out
  in　search　of　food。　　No　one　had　observed　his　entrance　to　the
  apartment；　but　it　was　improbable　that　such　luck　would　attend
  him　a　second　time。
  He　returned　to　the　bedroom。　　He　did　not　turn　on　the　light　because
  a　novel　idea　had　blossomed　unexpectedly　…　a　Latin　idea。　　There　might
  be　food　on　some　window　ledge。　　He　would　leave　payment。　　He　proceeded
  to　the　window；　throwing　up　both　it　and　the　curtain；　and　looked　out。
  Ripping！　　There　was　a　fire　escape。
  As　he　slipped　a　leg　over　the　sill　a　golden　square　sprang　into
  existence　across　the　way。　　Immediately　he　forgot　his　foraging
  instincts。　　In　a　moment　he　was　all　Latin；　always　susceptible　to　the
  enchantment
  of　beauty。
  The　distance　across　the　court　was　less　than　forty　feet。　　He　could
  see　the　girl　quite　plainly　as　she　set　about　the　preparation　of　her
  evening　meal。　　He　forgot　his　danger；　his　hunger；　his　code　of　ethics；
  which　did　not　permit　him　to　gaze　at　a　young　woman　through　a　window。
  Alone。　　He　was　alone　and　she　was　alone。　　A　novel　idea　popped　into
  his　head。　　He　chuckled；　and　the　sound　of　that　chuckle　in　his　ears
  somehow　brought　back　his　resolve　to　carry　on；　to　pass　out；　if　so　he
  must；　fighting。　　He　would　knock　on　yond