1897
{Illustration: Guir House}
1
When Mr. Henley reached his dingy little house in Twentieth Street, a
servant met him at the door with a letter, saying:
“The postman has just left it, sir, and hopes it is right, as it has
given him a lot of trouble.”
Mr. Henley examined the letter with curiosity. There were several
erased addresses. The original was:
“_Mr. P. Henley, New York City_.”
Scarcely legible, in the lower left-hand corner, was:
“_Dead. Try Paul, No. --, W. 20th_.”
Being unfamiliar with the handwriting, Mr. Henley carried the letter
to his room. It was nearly dark, and he lighted the gas, exchanged
the coat he had been wearing for a gaudy smoking jacket, glancing
momentarily at the mirror, at a young and gentlemanly face with good
features; complexion rather florid; hair and moustache neither fair
nor dark, with reddish lights.
Seating himself upon a table directly under the gas, he proceeded
with the letter. Evidently the document was not intended for him, but
it proved sufficiently interesting to hold his attention.