n." He had a number, what was it?
Three-nine-(fool not to write it down!) three-nine-something. Was that
his number during his last imprisonment? Had he spoken in terrific
hyperbole when he admitted that no doubt it was "a picturesque life"?
Good God! How blind we had been! And Miss Fraenkel's shot in the dark,
was it after all the truth? Had he really been "held for something"?

I let my pipe go out, so possessed was I, temporarily, with the
diabolical possibility. A double knock at the door sent the blood to my
heart. I rose, and passing into the front room opened the door. Mr.
Carville stood in the porch in an attitude of profound meditation. The
sight of him, phlegmatic and isolated from all emotion, restored the
balance of my mind somewhat. We shook hands and he still stood there,
trying to remember something.

"Another fine day," I said. "I saw you out early this morning."

He nodded absently, and then his face lightened.

Somewhat to my surprise, if any further surprise was possible, he lifted
his steady grey-blue eyes to mine, raised his right hand as high as his
shoulder and began to recite.

"When that the Knight had thus his tale i-told,
In al the route was ther young ne old
That he ne seyde it was a noble story,
And worthy to be drawen to memory."

And extending a finger he pointed to the little brass Canterbury Pilgrim
that served us for a knocker. "They told stories too, eh?" he said,
smiling.

"You read Chaucer?" I murmured, staggering to a chair in the porch.

"Why, sure!" he said, "don't you?" And he took out his pipe.

I did not pursue the subject, even when I had recovered my poise. The
clever application of the Chaucerian verse to his own case was crushing.
I said nothing of it to Mac when he appeared with a pair of shears
intended for the borders.

"Hullo, Mr. Carville," he said. "Come to finish the story? Wait till I
tell the wife."

"Now where's the hurry?" said our neighbour, deprecatingly, and sitting
down he began to cut up some tobacco. I looked across at New York, still
surrounded in diaphanous mist, and endeavoured to adjust my mind to the
immediate business. Since dinner the night before I had been indulging
in somewhat frothy speculation. It was only fair that Mr. Carville
should have the floor and speak for himself. Bill came out and nodded
brightly. None of us suggested waiting for Miss Fraenkel. I think we
were anxious to hear a little more of Mr. Carville