versation. The stranger seemed to unfold
at this touch of friendliness. They heard him laugh. Another drink was
ordered. After half an hour Garrison returned. He seemed excited. "Hold
him there till I return," he urged. "I'm going to a newspaper office to
look at some files."

Fifteen minutes later he was back. "Come," he said, "I've got a cab ...
want you to meet a friend of mine." He took the still-dazed stranger's
arm. They went out, entered a carriage and were driven off. As they
passed the City Hall the stranger said, as though astonished. "Why--it's
finished, isn't it?"

"Yes, at last," Garrison smiled. "Even Buckley couldn't hold it back
forever."

"Buckley ... he's the one who promised me a job, Is Pond the Mayor now?"

"No," returned the other. "Phelan." As he spoke the carriage stopped
before a rather ornate dwelling, somewhat out of place amid surrounding
offices and shops. The stranger started violently as they approached it.
Again the gutteral sound came from his lips.

The door opened and a woman appeared; a woman tall, sad-faced and
eager-eyed. Beside her was a lad as tall as she. They stared at the
bearded stranger, the boy wide-eyed and curious; the woman with a
piercing, concentrated hope that fears defeat.

The man took a stumbling step forward. "Jeanne!" He halted half abashed.
But the woman sobbing, ran to him and put her arms about his neck. For
an instant he stood, stiffly awkward, his face very red. Then something
snapped the shackles of his prisoned memory. A cry burst from him,
inarticulately joyous. His arms went round her.

* * * * *

It required weeks for Stanley to recover all his memories. It was a new
world; Jeanne the one connecting link between the present and that still
half-shadowy past from which he had been cast by some unceremonial jest
of Fate into a strange existence. From the witless, nameless unit of a
whaler's crew he had at last arisen to a fresh identity. Frank Starbird,
they christened him, he knew not why. And when they found that he had
clerical attainments, the captain, who was really a decent fellow, had
befriended him; found him a berth in a store at Sitka.... Since then he
had roamed up and down the world, mostly as purser of ships, forever
haunted by the memory of some previous identity he could not fathom. He
had been to Russia, India, Europe's seaports, landing finally at
Baltimore. Thence some mastering impulse took him West