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 and less Andrew Barham. I began to realize that I had gone farther than I intended—that I had burned bridges behind me that I never could rebuild. Time and again I tried to give up that other life—tried to resolve to close up the studio and never go back to it. I kept things arranged that way—there was always money enough in Charley’s possession to pay all bills and settle up all claims, if I could conclude to give up the other life I led.

“But I couldn’t do it. Always I would drift back there again.”

“But how, Drew, how could you work it? Why were you never discovered—or suspected.”

“It was easy,” Barham said. “I had so many out of town engagements in connection with my business that no one at home was surprised at my absence for several days at a time. And, at the other end, no one ever thought of questioning my goings or comings. It was really all very innocent and decent. I had good friends—no intimates, and no”

“You are sure you want me to hear all this revelation, Mr. Barham?” Lane asked, noting the confidences that were evidently meant for Nelson.

“It doesn’t matter, Mr. Lane. Yes—I think I’d rather you understood the whole situation. That’s about all, anyway. The disguise became second nature to me. I could achieve it in a moment or two. Many a time I have left the house in Fifth Avenue, ostensibly for a trip to Chicago or St. Louis. In my bag I had my wig, glasses, collar and tie, and a few such things. I would take a taxi from the station, whither my own chauffeur had driven me, and in it I would make the change in my appearance. The taxi driver rarely noticed it—if he did a five dollar bill closed his mouth. I would get out a few blocks from the studio and walk to it. I cannot tell you how I enjoyed