Had any friend met me I should scarcely have been recognised, from the fact that I was still in clerical attire, having dressed myself at home to avoid trouble. I wore a long black coat of orthodox cut, black unmentionables, a clerical collar, a soft, wide-brimmed hat, and was effectually disguised, though I thought nothing of the circumstances at the time, having frequently worn my stage clothes out of doors. I had walked for perhaps half an hour in silent contemplation, when I suddenly became aware that I had taken a wrong turning and that my footsteps had involuntarily carried me into that patrician of Kensington thoroughfares, Cromwell Road. At that moment I was passing a large, handsome-looking house, the outward appearance of which had an unmistakable air of wealth. The other houses were in darkness, but several of the windows of this one were brilliantly lit. Suddenly I heard something that caused me to pause. It sounded like a long, shrill scream. A moment later the door was opened by a man-servant, who ran hurriedly down the steps. As he confronted me he stopped short, and peering into my face, said— “Sir, would you have the kindness to step inside for a few minutes. His lordship sent me to look for a gentleman, and it is fortunate I found one so near.” “A gentleman!” I exclaimed, astonished. “But I——” “His lordship’s daughter is dying, sir, and he told me to get the first gentleman I could find.” The man led the way up the steps, and, dumbfounded by the sudden manner in which I had been accosted, I followed. He ushered me into a small but very elegantly furnished room, and then went to find his master. Just at that moment I heard the footsteps of two other men, who apparently entered from the street and walked down the hall to the room adjoining the one in which I was. I had hardly time to look about me, when the servant returned, accompanied by a strange-looking old man. He was well dressed, but seemed out of place in the clothes he wore. Small and thin, he had snow-white hair, sunken cheeks, and eyes in which shone a peculiar lustre. The manner in which he advanced to greet me was strange, for he seemed to glide noiselessly across the room. His face was colourless, and would have seemed almost devoid of life had it not been for his restless, glittering eyes. “His lordship,” explained the servant. I bowed, and the man retired. For a moment the old gentleman’s eyes shifted and roved, then he fixed my gaze with them, and said slowly, in a squeaky voice— “I have a theory that everything may be purchased; that every man has his price. Do you agree with me?” I was surprised. I shrank from him, and despised and hated him. “Most things can undoubtedly be bought; but not everything,” I replied. He smiled sadly. “Of course, neither life nor intellect can be purchased; but the securing of any service from any person capable of performing it is merely a question of money.”