A glance along the Drive told me where I was, at the corner of Fifty-third street. My apartment was only a few blocks away. Had I been walking in my sleep? My mind was a blank, with turbulent, dim impressions moving confusedly under the surface. * * * * * Trembling in the chill air, I started up the Drive. I must go home and change at once. Something came back to me--a memory of talking to some friends at the Club. But was that last night? Or months ago? It was as though I had slept for months. We had had a few drinks--could I have been drunk, and fallen into the lake on my way home? But I never took more than two or three drinks. Something had happened. Then I remembered the stranger. We had all been sitting about the lounge, talking of something. What had we been discussing? Franklin had mentioned Einstein's new theory--we had played with that for a while, none of us with the least idea what it was about. Then the conversation had shifted slowly from one topic to another, all having to do with scientific discoveries. Somewhere in the midst of it, Barclay had come in. He brought with him a guest--a straight, fine-looking man with a military carriage, about fifty years old. Barclay had introduced him as Mr. Melbourne. He spoke with a slight southern accent. In some way Melbourne and I gravitated into a corner. We went on with the conversation while the others left it. They drifted into politics, drawing together about the table where the whisky stood, leaving us alone. Melbourne had been a fascinating man to talk to. He discussed topics ranging from theories of matter to the early Cretan culture, and related them all to one dominant scientific thread. He spoke like a man of wide knowledge and experience.... As I walked up the Drive, bits of his conversation came disjointedly back to me with the clarity and significance of sentences from Spengler. An early-morning taxi went by slowly as I crossed the Drive to my apartment. The driver stopped a moment, and looked at me in astonishment. "What's the matter, buddy," he said, "you look all wet. Fall in the lake?" I smiled, embarrassed. "Looks that way, doesn't it?" I answered. "Can I take you anywhere?" "No," I said, "I live here." He grinned, and started off again. "Wish I'd been in on that party!" he called back, as he drove away. I frowned, once more with that puzzled feeling, and went in. Melbourne's Story Glimpses of last night came back to me and pieced themselves together slowly while I undressed and drew the water for my bath. Melbourne had been interested to know that I worked for Bausch, the motion picture producer. "Perhaps you could be of aid to me some time," he said thoughtfully. "In what way, Mr. Melbourne?" I asked him. "I can talk to you about that later," he replied cryptically. "Tell me about your work." So I told him the conception I had of the motion pictures to be made in the future. He listened with keen interest.