while dressing, he changed his mind. And, by
the way, isn't there such a writ as a mandamus, or a duces tecum? I
would like my paper-cutter returned."

"Confound your paper-cutter! You don't deserve to have me admit it, but
Lennox' account of it is that before going on to the opera, he stopped
to write a letter to Miss--er--Hum! Ha!"

"Miss Austen?"

"And when he got through it was midnight."

"I'll lay a pippin he didn't send it."

"What, sir?"

"Lennox had a lot to say. It was gagging him. He would have suffocated
if he had kept it in. The effect of getting it on black and white was an
emetic. He read it over, judged it inadequate, tore it up. I have done
the same thing. I daresay you have."

The great man sat back. "His scrap-basket has been visited. The letter
was there."

"Well, then, I suppose the short and long of it is, you will have him
out to-morrow."

"As I said, you may suppose all you like."

"Without indiscretion then, may I suppose that you live here alone?"

Dunwoodie flourished his handkerchief. It was cotton and big as a towel.

"I am not as young as you are, sir, and whether erroneously or not, I
believe myself better informed."

"Ah!" Jones put in. "Your physiognomy corroborates you. I have sometimes
thought that it were difficult for the Seven Sages to be as wise as you
look--which is the reason, perhaps, why I do not quite follow you."

"I did not imagine that you would. You are a sociable being. Every
imbecile is pitiably sociable. But for a thinking man, a man without
vices and without virtues, what is there except solitude?"

Appreciatively Jones motioned. "Thank you for descending to my level. As
it happens, I also have a cloister where I have the double advantage of
being by myself and of not being with others. But now that I am in your
hermitage, there is this Matter of Ziegler, concerning which I would
like the benefit of your professional advice."

"Hum! Ha! Got yourself mixed up with a woman and want me to pull you
out. Well, sir, you will find it expensive. But a hermitage is not an
office. I shall expect you at mine to-morrow. I shall expect you before
ten."

Dunwoodie stood up. "To-morrow, though, your turpitudes will have to
wait. Have you been served?"

Jones laughed. "Not yet."

"Time enough then. You can find the door?"

Through the lane, bordered by rubbish, and on through the winding hall,
Jones went out. As Dunwoodie had said, there was time enough. The