d my pocket picked yesterday morning. Amusing--isn't it?--that it
should have been my pocket--my pocket!

Fortunately I have stacks of clothes and some good pearl shirt-studs,
and I continue to present a respectable appearance. I shall always do
that, I think. I don't like the idea of the pawn-shop and the dropping
down one degree at a time. If, in the end, it shall be shown clearly
that the line is to be crossed, I shall walk over it quietly and as a
man should; I object to the indecency of being dragged or carried
across. What line do I mean? I don't know that I could tell you
clearly. What is in your own mind? There IS a line.

At half after seven I left the club, and exactly a quarter of an hour
later I stood opposite the doorway of No. 4020 Madison Avenue. A tall
man was descending the steps; I recognized Bingham, a member of my
club, and recalled the torn-up visiting-card that I had found in the
library. So Bingham was one of us.

Now I don't know Bingham, except by sight, and I shouldn't have cared
to stop and question him, anyway. But I caught one glimpse of his face
as he hurried away, and it looked gray under the electrics. Call it the
effect of the arc light, if you like; he was hurrying, certainly, and
it struck me that it was because he was anxious to get away.

Many are the motives that send men into adventurous situations, but
there is at least one among them that is compelling--hunger. I have
said that I had gone to the club for dinner; I did not say that I got
it. To be honest, I had hoped for an invitation--charity, if you insist
upon it. But I had been unfortunate. None of my particular friends had
chanced to be around, and Jeckley's cocktail had been the only
hospitality proffered me. You remember that my pocket had been picked
yesterday morning, and since then--well, I had eaten nothing. I might
have signed the dinner check, you say. Quite true, but I shall probably
be as penniless on the first of the month as I am to-day, and then
what? Too much like helping one's self from a friend's pocket.

So it was just a blind, primeval impulse that urged me on. This Mr.
Indiman had chosen to fish in muddy waters, and his rashness but
matched my necessity. A host must expect to entertain his guests. I
walked up the steps and rang the bell.

Instantly the door opened, and a most respectable looking serving-man
confronted me.

"Mr. Indiman will see you presently," he said, before I had a chance to
get o