eager to apologise for being in the way. For two years I watched
him and amused myself by guessing at his occupation and character.
But I never asked who he was; I didn't want to know, you see, for
then all the fun would have been spoiled at once. That man had
just your quality of being indefinite. At different times I made
him out to be a teacher who had never got his licence, a non-
commissioned officer, a druggist, a government clerk, a detective--
and like you, he looked as if made out of two pieces, for the
front of him never quite fitted the back. One day I happened to
read in a newspaper about a big forgery committed by a well-known
government official. Then I learned that my indefinite gentleman
had been a partner of the forger's brother, and that his name was
Strawman. Later on I learned that the aforesaid Strawman used to
run a circulating library, but that he was now the police reporter
of a big daily. How in the world could I hope to establish a
connection between the forgery, the police, and my little man's
peculiar manners? It was beyond me; and when I asked a friend
whether Strawman had ever been punished for something, my friend
couldn't answer either yes or no--he just didn't know! [Pause.]

MR. Y. Well, had he ever been--punished?

MR. X. No, he had not. [Pause.]

MR. Y. And that was the reason, you think, why the police had such
an attraction for him, and why he was so afraid of offending
people?

MR. X. Exactly!