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 to
any rightful Smith. The visitor stepped into a passageway which was dim
until he entered it and the door swung behind him. Then it became pitch
black.

"You will pardon this," said the voice. "A severe affection of the eyes
compels me."

"You are Mr. Smith?" asked Average Jones.

"Yes. Your hand if you please."

The visitor, groping, brushed with his fingers the back of a hand which
felt strangely hot and pulpy. Immediately the hand turned and closed,
and he was led forward to an inner room and seated in a chair. The
gentle, hot clasp relaxed and left his wrist free. A door facing him, if
his ears could be trusted, opened and shut.

"You will find matches at your elbow," said the voice, coming dulled,
from a further apartment. "Doubtless you would be more comfortable with
a light."

"Thank you," returned Average Jones, enormously entertained by the
dime-novel setting which his host had provided for him.

He lighted the gas and looked about a sparsely furnished room without
a single distinguishing feature, unless a high and odd-shaped
traveling-bag which stood on a chair near by could be so regarded. The
voice interrupted his survey.

"You have come in answer to my advertisement?"

"Yes, sir."

"You are, then, of scientific pursuit?"

"Of scientific ambition, at least. I hope to meet your requirements."

"Your name, if you please."

"Jones; A. Jones, of New York City."

"You live with you