with
fear, almost hopeless with despair. He walked quickly, yet he seemed to
have little idea as to his direction. Suddenly he paused. He was passing a
great building, brilliantly lit. For a moment he thought that it was some
place of entertainment. The thought of entering seemed to occur to him.
Then he felt a firm touch upon his arm, a man in uniform spoke to him.

"Step inside, brother," he invited earnestly, almost eagerly,
notwithstanding his monotonous nasal twang. "Step inside and find peace.
Step inside and the Lord will help you. Throw your burden away on the
threshold."

The man's first impulse at being addressed had seemed to be one of terror.
Then he recognised the uniform and hesitated. The light which streamed out
from the building seemed warm and pleasant. The rain was coming down in
sheets. They were singing a hymn, unmusical, unaccompanied, yet something
in the unison of those human voices, one quality--the quality of
earnestness, of faith--seemed to make an irresistible appeal to the
terrified wanderer. Slowly he moved towards the steps. The man took him by
the arm and led him in. There were the best part of a hundred people
taking their places after the singing of the hymn. A girl was standing up
before them on a platform. She was commencing to speak but suddenly broke
off. She held out her arms towards where the Professor's confidential
servant stood hesitating.

"Come and tell us your sins," she called out. "Come and have them
forgiven. Come and start a new life in a new world. There is no one here
who thinks of the past. Come and seek forgiveness."

For a moment this waif from the rain-swamped world hesitated. The light of
an infinite desire flashed in his eyes. Then he dropped his head. These
things might be for others. For him there was no hope. He shook his head
to the girl but sank into the nearest seat and on to his knees.

"He repents!" the girl called out. "Some day he will come! Brothers and
sisters, we will pray for him."

The rain dashed against the windows. The only other sound from outside was
the clanging of the street cars. The girl's voice, frenzied, exhorting,
almost hysterical, pealed out to the roof. At every pause, the little
gathering of men and women groaned in sympathy. The man's frame was shaken
with sobs.

CHAPTER IV

THE POCKET WIRELESS

1.

Mr. Sanford Quest sat in his favourite easy-chair, his cigar inclined
towards the left hand corner of his mouth,