ot unusual to have
the pressroom thus invaded.

Presently Fogerty strolled over, smoking his eternal cigarette, and
stood watching the pressman, as if interested in the oiling of the
complicated machine. Smith, feeling himself under observation, glanced
up again in an unconcerned way, and as he faced the detective Fogerty
gave a cleverly assumed start and exclaimed:

"Good God!"

Instantly Thursday Smith straightened up and looked at the man
questioningly. Fogerty stretched out his hand and said, as if in wonder:

"Why, Melville, old man, what are you doing here? We wondered what had
become of you, all these months. Shake hands, my boy! I'm glad I've
found you."

Smith leaned against the press and stared at him with dilated eyes.
Everyone in the room was regarding the scene with intense but repressed
excitement.

"What's wrong, Harold?" continued Fogerty, as if hurt by the other's
hesitation to acknowledge their acquaintance. "You haven't forgotten me,
have you? I'm McCormick, you know, and you and I have had many a good
time together in the past."

Smith passed his hand across his forehead with a dazed gesture.

"What name did you call me, sir?" he asked.

"Melville; Harold Melville, of East Sixty-sixth street. I'm sure I'm
right. There can't be two like you in the world, you know."

Thursday Smith stepped down from the platform and with a staggering gait
walked to a stool, on which he weakly sank. He wiped the beads of
perspiration from his forehead and looked at Fogerty with a half
frightened air.

"And you--are--McCormick?" he faltered.

"Of course."

Smith stared a moment and then shook his head.

"It's no use," he said despairingly; "I can't recall a single memory of
either Harold Melville or--or his friend McCormick. Pardon me, sir; I
must confess my mind is absolutely blank concerning all my life previous
to the last two years. Until this moment I--I could not recall my own
name."

"H'm," muttered Fogerty; "you recall it now, don't you?"

"No. You tell me my name is Melville, and you seem to recognize me as a
man whom you once knew. I accept your statement in good faith, but I
cannot corroborate it from my own knowledge."

"That's queer," retorted Fogerty, his cold eyes fixed upon the man's
face.

"Let me explain, please," said Smith, and related his curious experience
in practically the same words he had employed when confiding it to Mr.
Merrick. "I had hoped," he concluded, "that if ev