hich had fallen in the night, and Paul Griggs felt that
it was good to be alive as he threaded the narrow streets between his
lodging and the Piazza Colonna. He avoided the Corso; for he did not
know whom he might meet, and he had no desire to meet any one, except
Angelo Reanda.

Naturally enough, his first honourable impulse was to go to the artist,
to tell him something of the truth, and to give him an opportunity of
demanding the common satisfaction of a hostile meeting. It did not occur
to him that Reanda would not wish to exchange shots with him and have
the chance of taking his life. Griggs was not the man to refuse such an
encounter, and at that moment he felt so absolutely sure of himself that
the idea of being killed was very far removed from his thoughts. It was
without the slightest emotion that he enquired for Reanda at the
latter's house, but he was very much surprised to hear that the painter
had gone out as usual at his customary hour. He hesitated a moment and
then decided not to leave a card, upon which he could not have written
a message intelligible to Reanda which should not have been understood
also by the servant who received it. Griggs made up his mind that he
would write a formal note later in the day. He took it for granted that
Reanda must be searching for his wife.

It was necessary to find a better lodging than the one in the Via della
Frezza, and to provide as well as he could for Gloria's comfort. He was
met by a difficulty upon which he had not reflected as yet, though he
had been dimly aware of it more than once during the past twelve hours.

He was almost penniless, and he had no means of obtaining money at short
notice. The payments he received from the newspapers for which he worked
came regularly, but were not due for at least three weeks from that day.
Alone in his bachelor existence he could have got through the time very
well and without any greater privations than his capriciously ascetic
nature had often imposed upon itself.

He was not an improvident man, but in his lonely existence he had no
sense of future necessities, and the weakest point in his judgment was
his undiscriminating generosity. Of the value of money as a store
against possible needs, he had no appreciation at all, and he gave away
what he earned beyond his most pressing requirements in secret and often
ill-judged charities, whenever an occasion of doing so presented
itself, though he never sought one. For him