One man glibly quoted, "Lay not up unto yourselves treasures in this world!" on the occasion of a grimy fireman bringing out a magnificent but half-destroyed silver-framed canvas of Velasquez. But the crowd cheered the fireman for his pluck all the same. At length I realised that I was very tired, and hungry, too, so I slunk off and made my way to Dixon Hubbard's rooms. They were locked, of course, and I had not the key. I had left it with the porter of the building. But I could not go to him and ask him to give it up to an apparently fleshless voice. Wondering what to do, I crept into the passage, sat down in a corner underneath the stairs and waited for an inspiration. Waiting there, I fell asleep. Chapter XXX The Last I awoke in the grey light of dawn, stiff with cold and aching in every limb. Arising, I left my hiding-place and went into the vestibule. The night porter sat on a stool in his little office toasting his toes before the stove and reading one of the morning papers. I stepped up to the door at once. Hearing my footsteps, he looked around. "Good-morning, Michael," I said, as well as my chattering teeth would let me. "Do you want all that fire?" I had forgotten that I was completely invisible. The fellow sprang to his feet with a start and stared at me aghast. "What's the matter with you?" I demanded, testily. "'Ere--you keep off. I've done nothing to 'arm you!" he whined, and he backed before my advance against the wall of the office, the very picture of abject terror. His appearance recalled me to my senses. But it was too late to cry over spilt milk. I thought it better to make a confidant of the man if he would let me. "Don't be frightened, Michael; there is no need. I'm not a ghost, feel my hands!" I said.