“Stay a moment,” I said, as he had his hand on the door knob. “On second thoughts you can wait down stairs.” He turned back, and as his footsteps echoed down the stair I opened the door and entered the office. As I crossed the threshold my heart gave a great bound, and I stopped short. Before me sat Doddridge Knapp, the King of the Street, the man for whom above all others in the world I felt loathing and fear. Doddridge Knapp finished signing his name to a paper on his desk before he looked up. “Come in and sit down,” he said. The voice was alert and businesslike--the voice of a man accustomed to command. But I could find no trace of feeling in it, nothing that could tell me of the hatred or desperate purpose that should inspire such a tragedy as I had witnessed, or warn me of danger to come. “Do you hear?” he said impatiently; “shut the door and sit down. Just spring that lock, will you? We might be interrupted.” I was not at all certain that I should not wish very earnestly that he might be interrupted in what Bret Harte would call the “subsequent proceedings.” But I followed his directions. Doddridge Knapp was not less impressive at close view than at long range. The strong face grew stronger when seen from the near distance. “My dear Wilton,” he said, “I've come to a place where I've got to trust somebody, so I've come back to you.” The voice was oily and persuasive, but the keen gray eyes shot out a glance from under the bushing eyebrows that thrilled me as a warning. “It's very kind of you,” I said, swallowing my astonishment with an effort. “Well,” said Knapp, “the way you handled that Ophir matter was perfectly satisfactory; but I'll tell you that it's on Mrs. Knapp's say-so, as much as on your own doings, that I select you for this job.” “I'm much obliged to Mrs. Knapp,” I said politely. I was in deep waters. It was plainly unsafe to do anything but drift. “Oh, you can settle that with her at your next call,” he said good humoredly. The jaded nerves of surprise refused to respond further. If I had received a telegram informing me that the dispute over the presidency had been settled by shelving both Hayes and Tilden and giving the unanimous vote of the electors to me, I should have accepted it as a matter of course. I took my place unquestioningly as a valued acquaintance of Doddridge Knapp's and a particular friend of Mrs. Knapp's. Yet it struck me as strange that the keen-eyed King of the Street had failed to discover that he was not talking to Henry Wilton, but to some one else who resembled him. There were enough differences in features and voice to distinguish us among intimate friends, though there were not enough to be seen by casual acquaintances. I had the key in the next sentence he spoke. “I have decided that it is better this time to do our business face to face. I don't want to trust messengers on this affair, and even cipher notes are dangerous,--confoundedly dangerous.”