ssed, faultlessly mannered, and with
the clear-cut features of the born aristocrat, stood in the room.

His age might lie anywhere between twenty-five and thirty-five, his eyes
were straight looking and clear, his fresh, clean-shaven face was
undeniably handsome, and, whatever his origin, whatever his history,
there was something about him, in look, in speech, in bearing, that
mutely stood sponsor for the thing called "birth."

"God bless my soul!" exclaimed Sir Horace, amazed and appalled to find
the reality so widely different from the image he had drawn. "What
monstrous juggle is this? Why, man alive, you're a gentleman! Who are
you? What's driven you to a dog's life like this?"

"A natural bent, perhaps; a supernatural gift, certainly, Sir Horace,"
he made reply. "Look here. Could any man resist the temptation to use it
when he was endowed by Nature with the power to do this?" His features
seemed to writhe and knot and assume in as many moments a dozen
different aspects. "I've had the knack of doing that since the hour I
could breathe. Could any man 'go straight' with a fateful gift like that
if the laws of Nature said that he should not?"

"And do they say that?"

"That's what I want you to tell me. That's why I have requested this
interview. I want you to examine me, Sir Horace, to put me through
those tests you use to determine the state of mind of the mentally fit
and mentally unfit. I want to know if it is my fault that I am what I
am, and if it is myself I have to fight in future or the devil that
lives within me. I'm tired of wallowing in the mire. A woman's eyes have
lit the way to heaven for me. I want to climb up to her, to win her, be
worthy of her, and to stand beside her in the light."

"Her? What 'her'?"

"That's my business, Mr. Narkom, and I'll take no man into my confidence
regarding that."

"Yes, my friend, but 'Margot'?"

"I'm done with her! We broke last night, when I returned, and she
learned---- Never mind what she learned! I'm done with her, done with
the lot of them. My life is changed forever."

"In the name of Heaven, man, who and what are you?"

"Cleek--just Cleek: let it go at that," he made reply. "Whether it's my
name or not is no man's business; who I am, what I am, whence I came, is
no man's business, either. Cleek will do, Cleek of the Forty Faces.
Never mind the past; my fight is with the future, and so---- Examine me,
Sir Horace, and let me know if I or Fate's to blame