re I've seen that man?" thought Brassfield. Dim
reminiscences of such a figure sitting in shadowy background, while a
glorious tigrine woman ruled over some realm only half-cognized, vexed
the crepuscular and terror-breeding reaches of his mind. He met a
policeman, who respectfully saluted him. Brassfield stopped as if for
a chat with the officer.

"A fine evening, Mallory," said he.

"Fine, indeed, sir," said the officer.

"Who is the old gentleman whom you just passed?" asked Brassfield.
"The one with the glasses."

"That?" asked the policeman. "Why, didn't you recognize him? That's
your friend the hypnotist, up at the hotel--Professor Blatherwick."

"Oh," said Brassfield as he walked on, "I didn't know him in the dusk.
We'll have to have better street lighting, eh, Mallory?"

"No bad idea!" said Mallory. "Well, it'll be for you to say, I'm
thinking."

"You don't think there's anything in this new movement, do you?" asked
Brassfield.

"Oh, no, sir," said the officer. "And yet, in politics you never know.
But I feel sure it'll be all right. They can't do much this evening
and to-morrow. Time's too short."

Brassfield hurried on with an air of anxiety. The policeman's words
were not reassuring. He turned down a side street and entered a
restaurant, the proprietor of which at once placed himself and his
establishment at Mr. Brassfield's command.

"Give me the Turkish room, Tony," said Brassfield.

"Yes, sir, the Turkish room: and Charles to wait?"

"Yes," said Brassfield. "Cook me a tenderloin; and don't let any one
come into the room."

"Certainly, Mr. Brassfield! The Turkish room, and a steak, and no one
admitted----"

"Except such people as Mr. Alvord may bring. We shall want some good
cigars, and a few bottles of that blue seal."

"Yes, sir," said Tony. "Will you speak to this gentleman before you go
up, sir?"

Brassfield turned and confronted an elderly man of florid countenance,
whose white mustache and frock-coat presented a most respectable
appearance. Mr. Brassfield bent on him a piercing look, and strove
mentally to account for the impression that he had met this man before,
wondering again at that hazy association with the mystical, dreamy
region of the woman in yellow and black. It was as if he saw
everything that evening through some medium capable of imparting this
mystic coloring. The stranger faced him steadily.

"I presume you remember me, Mr. Brassfield," said he