At noon I was in my chambers, having arranged with the editor of the _Evening Moon_ for another absence from duty. Bob Tucker was to come at one, and I employed the intervening minutes in setting things right in my rooms. I should have liked to go to Emilia for the purpose of showing her the picture I had found, and of receiving confirmation that it was a portrait of her husband, but I had not the time. The chimes of Westminster had just proclaimed the half-hour when I heard a knock at the outer door of my chambers. "Bob is early," I thought, and I went and opened the door. A stranger confronted me, a middle-aged man, with sandy hair and light fluffy whiskers, and of a rather ponderous build. "I have come to see Mr. Agnold," said the stranger. "He is busy," I replied, testily, "and cannot be seen." I did not know the man, and the business I had to transact was too important for interruption. "I will wait," said the stranger, coolly. "It will be useless waiting," I said. "Mr. Agnold cannot be seen to-day." "I will wait till to-morrow," said the stranger, pulling his fluffy whiskers, and gazing at me with more than warrantable attention. "Yes," I said, "call to-morrow, and unless your errand is urgent and personal do not call at all. Mr. Agnold's time is valuable." I closed the door unceremoniously in his face and re-entered my sitting-room. My behavior is open to an unfavorable construction, I admit, but bachelors living in chambers in the houses roundabout are much annoyed by persons who intrude at all unseasonable hours, and who for the most part turn out to be commercial travellers desirous to show you samples of goods you do not want. But there was another reason in this particular instance for my unceremonious treatment of the uninvited visitor. All the time he was speaking to me I was conscious that he was observing me in a manner which I resented. There was an intentional rudeness in his pertinacious scrutiny which aroused in me a certain anger, which, reasonably or unreasonably, was a guide in my conduct toward him. I resumed my employment, but my mind was disturbed by the incident, and I could not drive it away. The man could not be a commercial traveller, I reflected, for those individuals are models of pleasantry and politeness, and do everything in their power to win your good graces. What, therefore, could be his object in paying me a visit? Had I done wrong in sending him away without inquiring its nature? "Confound the fellow!" I said. "He has got into my head and is likely to remain there, a fixture. I suppose he has gone." I went to the door and threw it open. On a little bench in the lobby outside sat the man, quietly and patiently. "Not gone!" I cried. "Not gone," he replied. "You heard what I said, did you not?" "Perfectly. You said Mr. Agnold cannot be seen to-day. Upon which I replied that I would wait till to-morrow." "To wait here?" I exclaimed.