life--this odd year. He recalled, as he drove across town, that a
full year had elapsed since he spent that unforgettable night in
Elias Droom's uncanny home. Was he never to forget that night--that
night when his soul seemed even more squalid than the home of the
recluse?

All of his baggage, except a suit case, had been left at the
station. He did not know what had become of his belongings in the
former home of his father. Nor, for that matter, did he care.

At the U---- Building he ventured a diffident greeting to the
elevator boy, whom he remembered. The boy looked at him quizzically
and nodded with customary aloofness. Graydon found himself hoping
that he would not meet Bobby Rigby. He also wondered, as the car
shot up, how his father had managed to escape from the meshes that
were drawn about him on the eve of his departure. His chances had
looked black and hopeless enough then; yet, he still maintained
the same old offices in the building. His name was on the directory
board downstairs. Graydon's heart gave a quick bound with the
thought that his father had proved the charges false after all.

Elias Droom was busy directing the labours of two able-bodied men
and a charwoman, all of whom were toiling as they had never toiled
before. The woman was dusting law books and the men were packing
them away in boxes. The front room of the suite was in a state of
devastation. A dozen boxes stood about the floor; rugs and furniture
were huddled in the most remote corner awaiting the arrival of the
"second-hand man"; the floor was littered with paper. Droom was
directing operations with a broken umbrella. It seemed like a lash
to the toilers.