"I? No." He spoke evasively and hurried on. "I wonder what made me say that?" he mumbled to himself. Down Kearney street he walked. Now and then his eyes lit as if with some half-formed memory and he made queer, futile gestures with his hands. Before a stairway leading to an upper floor, he stopped, and, with the dreamy, passive air of a somnambulist, ascended, entering through swinging doors a large, pleasant room, tapestried, ornamented with paintings and statuary. Half a dozen men lounging in large leathern chairs glanced up and away with polite unrecognition. The stranger was made aware of a boy in a much-buttoned uniform holding a silver tray. "Who do you wish to see, sir?" "Oh--ah--" spoke the stranger, "this is the Bohemian Club, isn't it?" "Yes, sir. Shall I call the house manager, sir?" At the other's nod he vanished to return with a spectacled man who looked inquiring. "I beg your pardon--for intruding," said the bearded man slowly. "But--I couldn't help it.... I was once a member here." "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?"