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R. JEREMY GARNET stood with his back to the empty grate—for the time was summer—watching with a jaundiced eye the removal of his breakfast things.

"Mrs. Medley," he said.

"Sir?"

"Would it bore you if I became autobiographical?"

"Sir?"

"Never mind. I merely wish to sketch for your benefit a portion of my life's history. At eleven o'clock last night I went to bed, and at once sank into a dreamless sleep. About four hours later there was a clattering on the stairs which shook the