a little lagoon of rainwater forming
within the reef of his hat-brim, trudged briskly along. The necessary
ingredients for the manufacture of mud are always present (if invisible
during dry weather) in the streets of East-end London, and already
Soames' neat black boots were liberally bedaubed with it. But what cared
Soames? He inhaled the soot-laden air rapturously; he was glad to feel
the rain beating upon his face, and took a childish pleasure in ducking
his head suddenly and seeing the little stream of water spouting from
his hat-brim. How healthy they looked, these East-end workers, these
Italian dock-hands, these Jewish tailors, these nondescript, greasy
beings who sometimes saw the sun. Many of them, he knew well, labored
in cellars; but he had learnt that there are cellars and cellars. Ah! it
was glorious, this gray, murky London!

Yet, now that temporarily he was free of it, he realized that there was
that within him which responded to the call of the catacombs; there was
a fascination in the fume-laden air of those underground passages; there
was a charm, a mysterious charm, in the cave of the golden dragon, in
that unforgettable place which he assumed to mark the center of the
labyrinth; in the wicked, black eyes of the Eurasian. He realized that
between the abstraction of silver spoons and deliberate, organized
money-making at the expense of society, a great chasm yawned; that there
may be romance even in felony.

Soames at last felt himself to be a traveler on the highroad to fortune;
he had become almost reconciled to the loss of his bank balance, to the
loss of his place in the upper world. His was the constitution of a born
criminal, and, had he been capable of subtle self-analysis, he must
have known now that fear, and fear only, hitherto had held him back, had
confined him to the ranks of the amateurs. Well, the plunge was taken.

Deep in such reflections, he trudged along through the rain, scarce
noting where his steps were leading him, for all roads were alike
to-night. His natural inclinations presently dictated a halt at a
brilliantly lighted public house; and, taking off his hat to shake some
of the moisture from it, he replaced it on his head and entered the
saloon lounge.

The place proved to be fairly crowded, principally with local tradesmen
whose forefathers had toiled for Pharaoh; and conveying his glass of
whisky to a marble-topped table in a corner comparatively secluded,
Soames sat d