When Mr. Henley reached his dingy little house in Twentieth Street, a servant met him at the door with a letter, saying:
“The postman has just left it, sir, and hopes it is right, as it has given him a lot of trouble.”
Mr. Henley examined the letter with curiosity. There were several erased addresses. The original was:
“Mr. P. Henley, New York City.”
Mr. P. Henley, New York CityScarcely legible, in the lower left-hand corner, was:
“Dead. Try Paul, No. —, W. 20th.”
Dead. Try Paul, No. —, W. 20thBeing unfamiliar with the handwriting, Mr. Henley carried the letter to his room. It was nearly dark, and he lighted the gas, exchanged the coat he had been wearing for a gaudy smoking jacket, glancing momentarily at the mirror, at a young and gentlemanly face with good features; complexion rat
