e assistant
answered it. We have had some skirmishes, but we had never set eyes
upon each other before. I hardly looked at his face. His knees were
what I wished to see. You must yourself have remarked how worn,
wrinkled, and stained they were. They spoke of those hours of
burrowing. The only remaining point was what they were burrowing for. I
walked round the corner, saw the City and Suburban Bank abutted on our
friend's premises, and felt that I had solved my problem. When you
drove home after the concert I called upon Scotland Yard, and upon the
chairman of the bank directors, with the result that you have seen."

"And how could you tell that they would make their attempt to-night?" I
asked.

"Well, when they closed their League offices that was a sign that they
cared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson's presence--in other words, that
they had completed their tunnel. But it was essential that they should
use it soon, as it might be discovered, or the bullion might be
removed. Saturday would suit them better than any other day, as it
would give them two days for their escape. For all these reasons I
expected them to come to-night."

"You reasoned it out beautifully," I exclaimed, in unfeigned
admiration. "It is so long a chain, and yet every link rings true."

"It saved me from ennui," he answered, yawning. "Alas! I already feel
it closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long effort to escape
from the common-places of existence. These little problems help me to
do so."

"And you are a benefactor of the race," said I.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, perhaps, after all, it is of some
little use," he remarked. "'_L'homme c'est rien _--_l'oeuvre c'est
tout_,'[237-1] as Gustave Flaubert wrote to Georges Sand."

JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE

The Inconsiderate Waiter

Frequently I have to ask myself in the street for the name of the man I
bowed to just now, and then, before I can answer, the wind of the first
corner blows him from my memory. I have a theory, however, that those
puzzling faces, which pass before I can see who cut the coat, all
belong to club-waiters.

Until William forced his affairs upon me, that was all I did know of
the private life of waiters, though I have been in the club for twenty
years. I was even unaware whether they slept down-stairs or had their
own homes, nor had I the interest to inquire of other members, nor they
the knowledge to inform me. I hold that this sort of people shou