"The person who inserted the advertisement--?"

"Has left. A month since."

"Could you tell where he went?"

"Left no address."

"His name was Telford, wasn't it?" said Average Jones strategically.

"Might be," said the old lady, who had evidently formed no favorable
impression of her ex-lodger. "But he called himself Ransom."

"He had a furnished room?"

"The whole third floor, furnished."

"Is it let now?"

"Part of it. The rear."

"I'll take the front room."

"Without even looking at it?"

"Yes."

"You're a queer young man. As to price?"

"Whatever you choose."

"You're a very queer young man. Are you a B-flat trombone player?"

"I collect 'em," said Average Jones.

"References?" said the old lady abruptly and with suspicion.

"All varieties," replied her prospective lodger cheerfully. "I will
bring 'em to-morrow with my grip."

For five successive evenings thereafter Average Jones sat in the senile
house, awaiting personal response to the following advertisement which
he had inserted in the Universal:

WANTED--B-flat trombonist. Must
have had experience as street player.
Apply between 8 and 10 p. m. R--,
300 East 100th Street.

Between the ebb and flow of applicant musicians he read exhaustively
upon the unallied subjects of trombones and high explosives, or talked
with his landlady, who proved to be a sociable person, not disinclined
to discuss the departed guest. "Ransom," his supplanter learned, had
come light and gone light. Two dress suit cases had sufficed to bring in
all his belongings. He went out but little, and then, she opined with a
disgustful sniff, for purposes strictly alcoholic. Parcels came for him
occasionally. These were usually labeled "Glass. Handle with care." Oh!
there was one other thing. A huge, easy arm-chair from Carruthers and
Company, mighty luxurious for an eight-dollar lodger.

"Did he take that with him?" asked Average Jones.

"No. After he had been here a while he had a man come in and box it up.
He must have sent it away, but I never saw it go."

"Was this before or after the trombone players came?"

"Long after. It was after he had picked out his man and had him up here
practicing."

"Did--er--you ever--er--see this musician?" drawled Average Jones in the
slow tones of his peculiar excitement.

"Bless you, yes! Talked with him."

"What was he like?"

"He was a stupid old German. I always thought he was a sort of a
na