music
did not have the virtue of an attempt at gaiety; instead it droned out
prolonged wails, melancholy and indescribably discordant.

The night was damp, a typical San Francisco midsummer night. A drizzling
fog had swept in from the ocean and fell refreshingly on the gray city.
But the keenness of the air irritated Suvaroff's headache instead of
soothing it; he felt the wind upon his temples as one feels the cool cut
of a knife. In short, everything irritated Suvaroff--his profession, the
cafe where he fiddled, the strident streets of the city, the evening
mist, the Hotel des Alpes Maritimes, where he lodged, and the Italian
fisherman and his doleful accordion.

Turning off Kearny Street into Broadway, he had half a notion not to go
home, but his dissatisfaction was so inclusive that home seemed, at
once, quite as good and as hopeless a place to go as any other. So he
pushed open the door of his lodging-house and stamped rather heavily
up-stairs.

Although midnight, the first sound which greeted Suvaroff was the
wheezing of the Italian's accordion.

"Now," muttered Suvaroff, "I shall suffer in silence no longer. Nobody
in this city, much less in these wretched lodgings, has an ear for
anything but the clink of money and the shrill laughter of women. If
fifty men were to file saws in front of the entrance of any one of these
rooms, there would be not the slightest concern. Every one would go on
sleeping as if they had nothing more weighty on their conscience than
the theft of a kiss from a pretty girl."

He tossed his hat on the bed and made for the Italian's door. He did not
wait to knock, but broke in noisily. The accordion stopped with a
prolonged wail; its owner rose, visibly frightened.

"Ah!" cried the Italian, "it is you! I am glad of that. See, I have not
left the house for three days."

There was a genial simplicity about the man; Suvaroff felt overcome
with confusion. "What is the matter? Are you ill?" he stammered, closing
the door.

"No. I am afraid to go out. There is somebody waiting for me. Tell me,
did you see a cripple standing on the corner, near Bollo's Wine Shop, as
you came in?"

Suvaroff reflected. "Well, not a cripple, exactly. But I saw a hunchback
with--with--"

"Yes! yes!" cried the other, excitedly. "A hunchback with a handsome
face! That is he! I am afraid of him. For three days he has sat there,
waiting!"

"For you? How absurd! Why should any one do such a ridiculous thing?"