As soon as the doctor had dressed and started on his visit, Moore descended and opened his front door with a skeleton key. He made his way to the doctor’s back windows, and, with the aid of Larry from below, managed to run the wire up to where it could be reached from his own window. At the same time Larry made a burglarious entry into the doctor’s rooms through the window, and after shutting the windows and leaving all tidy, he and Moore closed the doctor’s front door again and went on up to Moore’s rooms, where, with his drill, Larry brought the wire through the house wall and along under the footboard to the closet, connected it up and made a finished job of our telephone. In the meantime I had hastily got out of my coat and vest, changed my canvas shoes for bedroom slippers, and had climbed into a dressing-gown and mussed up my hair. When the sleepy young doctor got there I was looking pale and interesting and suffering from a variety of afflictions obviously beyond his simple powers of diagnosis. I think he vacillated between appendicitis, galloping consumption and epileptic fits, but I must admit my descriptions of my symptoms was both confused and confusing. Finally, however, he gave it up, mentally washed his hands of the case, and prescribed a simple remedy which I recognized as something in the nature of a faith cure. He then advised me to consult a specialist and took his annoyed and sleepy departure. But I had kept him there for nearly an hour, and I knew that Moore and Larry must have finished their job. Moore had insisted upon a _bona-fide_ call, as otherwise, if we had sent the young doctor on a wild-goose chase, he would have become suspicious and looked for and possibly found traces of Moore’s presence in his rooms, which might have led to all sorts of complications. Anyhow, I never paid a doctor’s bill with a stronger sense of value received than when I paid his a little later. Larry returned about dawn and, as the doorman knew him, got back to the flat again without difficulty. Our telephone was completed without a hitch and was in running order, as I soon ascertained by ringing up Moore. Then we settled down to a well-earned sleep, Larry at least in a state of pleasurable excitement. The following week marked the début of Moore and myself in the social game. Moore took a studio in Greenwich Village, furnished it superbly, dabbled in sculpture and invited his ever-growing circle of friends and acquaintances to come to tea, discuss art and view what he described to me as his atrocities. For my part, I visited old friends in search of introductions in what I thought might be likely quarters and followed these up assiduously. Moore maintained his dilettante pose and went in for the milder forms of dissipations and indiscretions, doing his best to attain the appearance of evil without boring himself with the thing itself. I followed his advice and took to myself the pose of a disillusioned worldling of esthetic tastes.