spite a pretence at indifference in the
phraseology of the note, the professor discovered a deep anxiety in the
writing. Among other things he had studied, and minutely, graphology.

He sat down and very politely refused the invitation.

Then Chichester came to call on him, and caught him at home.

It was six o'clock in the evening, and the heavens were opened. Agnes,
the Scotch parlor-maid who claimed to have second sight, opened the door
to Chichester, who, speaking from beneath a dripping umbrella, inquired
for the professor.

"He's in, sir, but he's busy."

"Could you take him my card?"

Agnes took it, much to her own surprise, and carried it to the
professor's study.

"A gentleman, sir."

"I told you, Agnes--"

"I couldn't say no to him, sir."

"Why not? Here!" he took the card.

"Why not?" he repeated, when he had read the name.

"It wasn't in me to, sir."

"Well, then I shall have to see him. Show him up. But never again will
I call you by the proud name of Cerberus."

So, putting the onus upon Agnes, the professor yielded, murmuring to
himself:

"It wasn't in her to! Very expressive! And Cerberus, by the way, was
always ready to let 'em in. It was when they wanted to get out that--Good
evening. I hope you don't mind climbing."

"Thank you, no," said Chichester.

"Sit down."

"I am afraid I disturb you."

"I'm bound to say you do. But what does it matter?"

"As you didn't find your way to Hornton Street, I thought I would
venture."

"Very good of you. This is a soft chair."

Chichester sat down. It had been evident to Stepton from the moment
when his visitor came in that he was in great agony of mind. There was
in his face a sort of still and abject misery which Stepton thought
exceedingly promising. As he turned round, leaning his sharp elbow on
his writing-table, Stepton was considering how to exploit this misery
for the furthering of his purpose.

"I want you to tell me something," Chichester began. "I want to know
why your attention was first attracted to me. I feel sure that you must
be able to give a reason. What is it?"

"Well, now, I wish I could," returned Stepton.

To himself he gave the swift admonition, "Play for hysteria, and see what
comes of it."

"I wish I could; but it's a mystery to me. But now--let's see."

He knitted his heavy brows.

"A long while ago I picked a man out, met him in a crowd, at the Crystal
Palace, followed him about, couldn't get away fro