om for
evening prayers, I speculated on the stage of intoxication at which my
lonely master had arrived.

I was a million miles from speculating on what was really happening, and
when I received a curt uncharacteristic note from Paragot a fortnight
later begging me to return to Paris at once, a day or two before the
formal expiry of my visit, it only occurred to me that he might be ill.

* * * * *

The crowded train steamed into the Gare Saint-Lazare at half past seven
in the morning. I was desperately anxious to get to Paragot, and bag in
hand I stood with a sickening feeling of suspense by the open door,
waiting for the train to slow down. I sprang out. In an instant the line
of porters were odd dots of blue in the throng that swarmed out of the
carriages. I became a mere ant in the heap, and struggled with the
others towards the barrier. After giving up my ticket, I set down my bag
to rest my strained arm for a minute, and looked around me. Then I
noticed a stranger approaching whose smiling face had an air of uncanny
familiarity. Where had I seen the long gaunt man before? He wore a silk
hat and a frock coat. My acquaintance with silk-hatted gentlemen in
Paris was limited. I picked up my bag.

"Ah! My little Asticot," cried the stranger. "How good it is to see
you."

I dropped my bag. I dropped my jaw. I would have dropped my brains had
they been loose. This cadaverous image of respectability was
Paragot--but a Paragot transmogrified beyond recognition even by me. His
hair was cropped short. His face was clean shaven. On his transfigured
head shone a flat brimmed silk hat. He wore a villainously fitting frock
coat buttoned across his chest, with long wrinkly creases stretching
horizontally from each button. His hands were encased in lemon coloured
gloves a size too large for him. When he extended his hand even my
bewilderment did not blind me to the half-inch of flat dead tips to the
fingers. Beneath his arm was an umbrella--on a broiling August morning!
He wore spats--in mid-summer! His trousers were fawn coloured. I could
only gape at him as he wrung me by the hand.

"You are surprised, my son."

"I did not expect you to meet my train, Master," said I.

"If one could anticipate all the happenings of life it would lose its
fascination. My son, go your way and do your duty, but believe in the
unexpected."

"But what has happened?" I asked, again surveying his ill-fitting glo