“Hullo!” came back a wholly unexpected response. “Who are you? What do you want?” cried Northcote, with a thrill in his voice. The young man rose to his feet to summon the commoner faculties. For a voice to have invaded his garret at this hour and in this fashion seemed to presage a new epoch to his life. “Who are you?” he demanded again, having received no reply to the former demand. “Nobody much,” said the voice, which sounded unlike anything he had ever heard before. “I’ll strike a match before I get a blow from a bludgeon.” “Pray do so,” said the voice, quietly. Northcote began to fumble for the matches and found them on the mantelpiece. He obtained a light and applied it to the wick of the lamp which was on the table, and was then able to read his visitor. The flicker of the lamp declared him to be a man of forty, of pale and attenuated figure, clad in rags. “To what am I indebted for the honor of this visit?” said Northcote, with slightly overemphasized politeness. “Curiosity, curiosity,” muttered his visitor, with the quietness of one who is acquainted with its value. Northcote turned up the lamp to its highest point and resumed his scrutiny. The voice and manner were those of a man of education; and although the garb was that of a scarecrow, and the face was wan with hunger and slightly debased by suffering, a strange refinement was underlying it. “This is all very mysterious,” said the young advocate; and indeed the wretched figure that confronted him appeared to have no credentials to present. “May I ask who and what you are?” “How race reveals itself!” said the visitor, with a faint air of disappointment. “Even the higher types among us cannot cast their shackles away. When we go down into Hades, we are at once surrounded by the damned souls of our countrymen, clamoring to know _who_ and _what_ we are.” “Well, who are _you_, at any rate?” said Northcote, oppressed with an acute sense of mystery. “My name is Iggs,” said the scarecrow. “Well, Mr. Iggs, I am sorry to say that to me your name conveys nothing.” “No?” “No!” For an instant the scarecrow peered in a strange and concentrated manner into the face of the advocate. He then sighed deeply and rose from his chair. “With all the learning we acquire so painfully,” he whispered, “we cannot enjoy a perfect immunity from error. Good night, sir. I offer my apologies for having invaded your privacy.” With a bow of grave deference the strange figure proceeded to glide from the room in the noiseless manner in which it had entered it. By the time his visitor had reached the door, Northcote called after him hastily: “Come back, Mr. Iggs. I have not expressed myself--not expressed myself adequately. Come back.”