“I mean that I take you for a gentleman,” he said, “a gentleman without the curiosity of Bluebeard’s wives.” His frankness at once unarmed me and amused me. “You are quite out of breath;” I remarked. “Yes,” he said, “I have walked up the seven flights of stairs.” “What, are not the elevators running?” I asked, worrying about Sandy’s return. “Oh, yes, but they make me dizzy. I--I--I rarely use them.” The man’s hesitation shot a fiendish idea into my brain. There are two classes of men who interest me particularly, one type is composed of those who are taciturn about their mysterious selves, and the other kind who conceal mystery under a glib and suave exterior. My visitor being of the latter class, this fiendish intention came into my brain: suppose you dose him with your sangaree until he reveals his mystery, and you can read his naked soul. Besides this, the man had a fascinating face and figure. He was about fifty years of age, his hair streaked with grey, his eyes outwardly plausible but inwardly leering, his mouth told of an exceedingly sensuous nature. His features and his body stood out like a mask, covering an actual self within, totally different from his considerate, gentlemanly exterior. I want to scratch that thin veneer of civilization, and get a look at this urbane creature. “I fear that you mistook my abruptness for rudeness,” I said, “sit down, won’t you? Rest a few minutes until you recover your breath. I fear you have no conception of how hard stair-climbing is on the heart.” “I have been used to it for years,” he replied, about to depart, “for eighteen years I climbed the pyramids of Egypt.” “What a coincidence,” I answered, “I myself am a student of the East. I even adopt their dress within doors, as you see. Did you ever work about the vicinity of Memphis? Come in and sit a moment, for you are in no condition to strain yourself any more for a while. My servant is out, or I would offer you refreshment.” I opened the door wide. He hesitated, but after brushing off a cloud of suspicion arising from my change of manner, he entered, set down his valise, and looked at me as I closed the door. “When you spoke of Memphis,” said he, “well, I can only say that I was taken aback! Memphis was the site of most of my work.” “You were surprised no more than I when you spoke of the pyramids,” I replied, “pardon me, but will you excuse me if I take a glass of a mild beverage which I keep on hand? I would gladly offer you some, but I fear you would not care for it, and I am sorry that I have nothing else to give you, and that my servant is out.” “What is your beverage? I have tasted every liquor from vodka to white whiskey.” “Oh, mine is a very mild concoction. It is only sangaree.” “Sangaree? Why, I was raised on sangaree.” “I am glad that I can now be hospitable. Excuse me while I fill the caraffe.”