handle hung slack and I ventured to open the door. Evidently the
taxi-driver had been there before, for he said: 'You'll find Number Six
on the right, Sir.' I went in.

"It was a long garden surrounded by high black buildings and very quiet.
The wet summer had encouraged everything to grow, and the whole place
was a rank green jungle. In the centre stood a statue, a nymph stained
green and brown with the rain pouring through the foliage overhead. The
rank grasses hung over the path and there was a damp smell. I walked
along until I came to Number Six. It was one of a number of apartments
in a long, low building with large skylights in the roof, a large window
and a transom over each door. A fly-blown card over the bell-push
announced Mr. Florian Kelly. As I pressed the button I heard a shrill
laugh from one of the other studios. I was not surprised to find that
the bell did not ring. I rapped with my stick, a fine manly voice
remarked 'Oh, damn!' and there was a sound of footsteps. And then the
door opened about six inches and a young man with a keen dark face and
wearing a calico overall put his head out.

"'Is it very important?' he asked, impatiently. 'I've got a model, you
know.'

"'Yes, very important,' I said. 'I have a cab waiting.'

"He opened the door and I went in. It was one large room with a little
scullery behind, a studio with a four-post bed in one corner, an easel
in another, and a young woman in extreme deshabille, hastily covered
with a travelling rug, seated on a dais near the window. On the walls
were the usual studies, of street scenes mostly, and trees reflected in
still water. On the easel was a half-finished poster for some theatrical
announcement, a woman in a tragic attitude holding a knife and clutching
her throat. Mr. Florian Kelly looked hard at me. I said:

"'You used to know a Miss Macedoine, I believe.'

"'Yes, to my cost,' he retorted, sharply. 'Miss Bailey, will you go and
have your tea? Come back in an hour, say five sharp.' She stepped down
and went to the back of the studio, and Mr. Kelly pulled a green curtain
across behind her. 'It's very inconvenient you know,' he said, 'the
first decent day I've had for weeks. I don't suppose you realize what
light means to an artist.'

"'I was sent by Miss Macedoine,' I began and he interrupted me: 'Oh,
she's got you, too, has she? Well, look here my friend, I don't know who
you are or what particular hold she's obtained over you, but i