uld have been perfectly
easy for Alfred Simpson to have overtaken him and to have given him into
custody. But such an act would have been inconsistent with the rest of
his career. So he gave up the idea of dinner and sat on the Embankment.

On the following day he remained in the parks until closing time and
then sat on the Embankment again.

And the next night he dreamed that he died on the Embankment.

And after death Alfred Simpson opened his eyes and saw that he was in a
large and very plainly furnished room. He sat on a hard bench, not
unlike that which had been his bed on the Embankment, and many others,
mostly of villainous appearance, sat there also.

"I say," said Alfred Simpson to the grey-haired reprobate next to him.
"This isn't Heaven, is it?"

The reprobate chuckled. "Not exactly," he said.

"Then what is it?"

"It's the waiting-room for lost souls before they take their trial."

"But I'm not a lost soul," said Alfred Simpson indignantly. "I ought not
to be here. I must have taken the wrong turning. I have never done
anything very wrong in my life, and I have done heaps of good. I gave up
the only girl I ever loved."

"I know," said the old man; "and in consequence she married a man she
did not love out of pique. He's a brute, he ill-treats her, and she will
die. You murdered her."

"This is terrible," said Alfred Simpson. "I had no idea of it. But I
have done lots of other good things. I refused to go in for a
competitive examination and take up a valuable post, in order that some
other man might enjoy it."

"I know," said the old man again. "The other man got it; he had not your
mental equipment and he was not equal to it. He bungled badly and
disgraced himself. That's him over there, the man with the bullet-hole
in his temples. It was his hand that held the revolver, but it was you
who shot him, Alfred Simpson."

"This is most distressing," said Alfred. "If I could have foreseen this
kind of thing, I should certainly have revised my ideas. I should have
drawn out another scheme for my life altogether. But as it is, I must
have done some good. I lent large sums of money without interest."

"I know," said the old man once more. "And by so doing you have turned
various people who might have had self-respect and industry into
worthless wastrels. The souls of some of them are waiting now to give
evidence against you."

"It is very sad," said Alfred, "that things do not turn out as one
inten