Publisher's Synopsis
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." Scarcely legible, in the lower left-hand corner, was: "Dead. Try Paul, No. -, W. 20th." Being 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 rather florid; hair and moustache neither fair nor dark, with reddish lights. Seating himself upon a table directly under the gas, he proceeded with the letter. Evidently the document was not intended for him, but it proved sufficiently interesting to hold his attention.
