the elevator to the floor on which was
situated the offices, and, curiously enough, the first person he saw,
on emerging from the elevator, was the man whom he knew, waiting to
ascend. The man, whose name was Fowler, recognized him at once, and
greeted him, but with constraint. Carroll immediately understood that
in some unforeseen way the news which travels in circles in this
small world had reached the other. He saw that he knew of his record
during the last years.

"I have not seen you for a number of years, Mr. Carroll," said Fowler.

"No," replied Carroll, trying to speak coolly, "but that is easily
accounted for; you have been abroad most of the time, living in
London, have you not?"

"Yes, for seven years," replied the other, "but now I am home in my
native land to end my days." Fowler was quite an elderly man, and
remarkably distinguished in appearance, clean-featured and
white-haired--indeed, he had cut quite a considerable figure in
certain circles on the other side. He was even taller than Carroll,
and portly in spite of the sharpness of his features.

"You are glad to be back in America?" Carroll said; he was almost
forgetting, for the moment, the object of his visit to the place. He
had years ago been on terms of social intimacy with this man.

"If I were not I would not say so," replied Fowler, with a diplomatic
smile. "I do not disparage my country nor give another the preference
in my speech, until I deliberately take out naturalization papers
elsewhere."

Carroll smiled.

"By-the-way," said Fowler, whose handsome face had hard lines
which appeared from time to time from beneath his polished
surface-urbanity, "I have not seen you for perhaps ten years, Mr.
Carroll, but I heard from you in an out-of-the-way place--that is, if
anything is out of the way in these days. It was in a little Arab
village in Egypt. I was going down the Nile with a party, and
something went wrong with the boat and we had to stop for repairs;
and there I found--quartered in a most amazing studio which he had
rigged up for himself out of a native hut and hung with things which
looked to me like nightmares, and making studies of the native
Egyptians--and I must say he seemed to be doing some fine work at
last--Evan Dodge."

Carroll understood then, perfectly, but he took it calmly. "I always
felt that Dodge had genuine ability," he said.

"He has the ability to strike twelve, but not to strike it often,"
said Fowler. "