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Rh "I must first tell the detective I've withdrawn the charge," I said. "I must send him away. He doesn't know your name." Boyde thanked me volubly again, as I crawled to the door, closed it again, and stood in the cold passage a minute or two. "The man's gone," I said, when I came back.

"When--when am I to leave this room?" he asked quietly. I told him he could stay. The matter was forgiven and forgotten. He began to cry again....

For some time after Grant had gone, we were alone. Boyde talked a little, repeating his gratitude. I asked him one question only: had he been in gaol before? "I would rather not answer that, if you don't mind," he said. I did not press him, for he had answered it. "I shall never, never go wrong again," he kept repeating. And all the time he talked--I learned this later--there lay in his coat pocket, that was my coat pocket, the sum of ten dollars which belonged to me. He had sold two of my translations to McCloy, telling me McCloy had refused them.

I have a vague recollection of that evening and of our talk, for complete exhaustion had come over me from the moment I got back into bed. It was not unconsciousness, but probably half unconsciousness. I was only dimly aware of what was going on. I remember Boyde going out to eat something at Krisch's, then coming back. I woke in darkness with a sudden start. The gas was out, and I wondered why. There was a noise close beside me--something swishing. My mind cleared in a flash.

"Put it back, Boyde," I called out. "Put it back at once."

A thin summer coat hung on the door, too thin and shabby to wear, too ragged to pawn. I had placed the confession in the inside pocket, and it was this coat I now heard swishing faintly against the wood.

No answer came, but I plainly heard the soft tread of bare feet along the carpet. I got up and lit the gas. Boyde lay apparently sleeping soundly on the floor. K