machinery of the
house, nor would it run smoothly without him.

At the end of the second week she rapped at my door and with trembling
steps led me to Bing's room. She had opened it with her own pass-key--a
liberty she never allowed any one to take except herself, and never
then unless some emergency arose. It was empty of everything that
belonged to him--had been for days. The room had been set in order and
the bed had been made up by the maid the day he left and had not been
slept in since. Trunks, books, manuscripts, photographs--all were
gone--not a vestige of anything belonging to him was visible.

I stooped down and examined the grate. On the top of the dead coals lay
a little heap of ashes--all that was left of a package of letters.

II

Five years passed. Times had changed with me. I had long since left my
humble quarters at Miss Buffum's and now had two rooms in an uptown
apartment-house. My field of work, too, had become enlarged. I had
ceased to write for the Sunday papers and was employed on special
articles for the magazines. This had widened my acquaintance with men
and with life. Heretofore I had known the dark alleys and slums, the
inside of station-houses, bringing me in contact with the police and
with some of the detectives, among them Alcorn of the Central Office, a
man who had sought me out of his own accord. Many of these trusted me
and from them I gathered much of my material. Now I explored other
fields. With the backing of the editor I often claimed seats at the
opening of important conventions--not so much political as social and
scientific; so, too, at many of the public dinners given to our own and
distinguished foreign guests, would a seat be reserved for me, my
object being the study of men when they were off their guard--reading
their minds, finding out the man behind the mask, a habit I had never
yet thrown off. Most men have some mental fad--this was mine. Sometimes
my articles found an echo in a note written to me by the guests
themselves; this would fill me with joy. Often I was criticised for the
absurdity of my views.

On this occasion a great banquet was to be given to Prince Polinski, a
nephew of the Czar and possible heir to the throne. The press had been
filled with the detail of his daily life--of the dinners, teas and
functions given by society in his honor; of his reception by the mayor,
of his audience at the White House; of the men who guarded his person;
of his "