“That’s all right!” I cried, and proceeded in the direction of the doorway.

I presently obtained a view of a cozily furnished room, where a white-haired old lady was bustling about engaged in some domestic duties.  I paused at the threshold.

“My name is Addison,” I said.  “Would it be possible for me to have a few minutes’ conversation with Mr. Edward Hines?”

The old lady (whom I suspected to be the mother of the youth whom I was seeking) paused in the midst of her task and looked at me in a troubled way.  It was evident enough that the reputation of Mr. Edward was the same in his home as elsewhere, and it occurred to me that his upbringing must have been a very bad one.

“Well,” she replied, after this eloquent pause, “he’s up in his room certainly, but he doesn’t like to see visitors, I know.”

“He will be perfectly willing to see me,” I said, confidently.  “I have news of importance for him”—­and as she continued to look at me in that troubled way:  “I know of his present disfigurement,” I explained.  “You need not be afraid of any unpleasant scenes.”

“If I were sure of that,” she said hesitatingly, and looked me over with a critical eye.  “Does he know you, sir?”

“Oh, yes,” I answered; “we have met before.  I assure you it will be quite all right if you will just let me walk up and announce myself to him, Mrs. Hines.”

If I had had any doubt upon the point I was soon to learn that she was indeed the mother of the notorious Mr. Edwards; for, ere she had time to reply, a high-pitched, querulous voice which I had heard before cried out from somewhere above: 

“If that’s any one for me, mother, tell him to go away!  You know perfectly well I won’t see any one.”

“There you are, sir,” said Mrs. Hines, unable to hide her embarrassment; “I told you he wouldn’t see you.”

“Please give me permission to go up,” I said; “he will change his mind when he hears what I have to say.”

“You hear, mother!” came the irritable voice; “I’ll break his neck if he comes up here!”

Judging from the sound of the voice, I concluded that the excited young man was located in a room immediately above that at the door of which I stood.

“Don’t be alarmed, madam,” I said, and, stepping into the room, I placed my hand reassuringly upon the old lady’s shoulder.

Without waiting for any further protest I advanced to an open staircase which I had already marked as leading to the apartment above and confidently mounted.  The copy-hunting pressman is not readily excluded, and a few moments later I found myself in an extremely untidy bedroom, the walls of which were decorated with sporting prints, Kirchner drawings and photographs of many damsels.

The scarred young man, his face still a mass of sticking-plaster, stood with clenched fists facing me, and: 

“Get out!” was his greeting—­“before I throw you out.”