"I peg bardon," it said, "but haf I the honor of attressing Herr Brassfield, or Herr Amidon?"
"My name is Brassfield," was the reply. "What can I do for you?"
"I am stopping at the Bellevale House," said the professor. "Blatherwick is my name. I hat hoped that you might rekonice me, as——"
"I am sorry to dispel your hope," said Brassfield. "What do you want with me?"
"I should pe klad to haf you aggompany me to my rooms," said the professor, "vere I shouldt esdeem it a brifiliche to bresent you to my daughter, and show you some dests in occult phenomena. As the shief citizen of the city——"
"My good man," said Brassfield, "whatever would be my attitude ordinarily toward your very kind, if rather unlooked-for, invitation, permit me now to decline on account of pressure of business. Ordinarily I should be curious to know just what kind of game you've got, as I haven't enough in my pockets to be worth your while to flimflam me. Pardon me, if I seem abrupt."
And he hurried down the street, leaving the professor drifting aimlessly in his wake, vibrating between anger and perplexity.
"I wonder where I've seen that man?" thought Brassfield. Dim reminiscences of such a figure sitting in shadowy background, while a glorious tigrine woman ruled over some realm only half-cognized, vexed the crepuscular and terror-breeding reaches of his mind. He met a policeman, who respectfully saluted him. Brassfield stopped as if for a chat with the officer.
"A fine evening, Mallory," said he.
"Fine, indeed, sir," said the officer.