n his wash basin
and then carefully washed the basin. That done, his attendance on a sick
man, and the letter found on the bed was all the positive evidence they
had to connect him with the case. He had had some thought of slipping
out by the fire-escape and making a search for Dick on his own account,
but his lack of familiarity with his surroundings made that practically
useless.

At midnight he stretched out on his bed without undressing, and went
over the situation carefully. He knew nothing of the various neuroses
which affect the human mind, but he had a vague impression that
memory when lost did eventually return, and Dick's recognition of the
chambermaid pointed to such a return. He wondered what a man would
feel under such conditions, what he would think. He could not do it. He
abandoned the effort finally, and lay frowning at the ceiling while he
considered his own part in the catastrophe. He saw himself, following
his training and his instinct, leading the inevitable march toward this
night's tragedy, planning, scheming, searching, and now that it had
come, lying helpless on his bed while the procession of events went on
past him and beyond his control.

When an automobile engine back-fired in the street below he went sick
with fear.

He made the resolution then that was to be the guiding motive for his
life for the next few months, to fight the thing of his own creating to
a finish. But with the resolution newly made he saw the futility of
it. He might fight, would fight, but nothing could restore to Dick
Livingstone the place he had made for himself in the world. He might be
saved from his past, but he could not be given a future.

All at once he was aware that some one was working stealthily at
the lock of the door which communicated with a room beyond. He slid
cautiously off the bed and went to the light switch, standing with a
hand on it, and waited. The wild thought that it might be Livingstone
was uppermost in his mind, and when the door creaked open and closed
again, that was the word he breathed into the darkness.

"No," said a woman's voice in a whisper. "It's the maid, Hattie. Be
careful. There's a guard at the top of the stairs."

He heard her moving to his outer door, and he knew that she stood
there, listening, her head against the panel. When she was satisfied she
slipped, with the swiftness of familiarity with her surroundings, to the
stand beside his bed, and turned on the lamp. In the