“Indeed?” said the spectacled man, tentatively cordial, still inquiring.  “And you’re name—­”

From the bearded lips there came a gutteral sound—­as if speech had failed him.  He gazed at the spectacled personage helplessly.  “I—­don’t know.”  Sudden weakness seemed to seize him.  Still with the helpless expression in his eyes, he retreated, found a chair and sank into it.  He passed a hand feverishly before his eyes.

The spectacled man acted promptly.

“Garrison, you’re one of the ancients round this club,” he addressed a smiling, gray-haired man of plump and jovial mien.  “Come and talk to the Mysterious Stranger....  Says he was a member ten or fifteen years ago....  Can’t recollect who he is.”

“What do you wish me to do?” asked Garrison.

“Pretend to recognize him.  Talk to him about the Eighties....  Get him oriented.  It’s plainly a case of amnesia.”

He watched Garrison approach the bearded man with outstretched hand; saw the other take it, half reluctantly.  The two retired to an alcove, had a drink and soon were deep in conversation.  The stranger seemed to unfold at this touch of friendliness.  They heard him laugh.  Another drink was ordered.  After half an hour Garrison returned.  He seemed excited.  “Hold him there till I return,” he urged.  “I’m going to a newspaper office to look at some files.”

Fifteen minutes later he was back.  “Come,” he said, “I’ve got a cab ... want you to meet a friend of mine.”  He took the still-dazed stranger’s arm.  They went out, entered a carriage and were driven off.  As they passed the City Hall the stranger said, as though astonished.  “Why—­it’s finished, isn’t it?”

“Yes, at last,” Garrison smiled.  “Even Buckley couldn’t hold it back forever.”

“Buckley ... he’s the one who promised me a job, Is Pond the Mayor now?”

“No,” returned the other.  “Phelan.”  As he spoke the carriage stopped before a rather ornate dwelling, somewhat out of place amid surrounding offices and shops.  The stranger started violently as they approached it.  Again the gutteral sound came from his lips.

The door opened and a woman appeared; a woman tall, sad-faced and eager-eyed.  Beside her was a lad as tall as she.  They stared at the bearded stranger, the boy wide-eyed and curious; the woman with a piercing, concentrated hope that fears defeat.

The man took a stumbling step forward.  “Jeanne!” He halted half abashed.  But the woman sobbing, ran to him and put her arms about his neck.  For an instant he stood, stiffly awkward, his face very red.  Then something snapped the shackles of his prisoned memory.  A cry burst from him, inarticulately joyous.  His arms went round her.

* * * * *