The time was two o'clock in the morning; the outlook a stretch
of cold, drizzling, unsociable blackness until the dawn.
A man, wearing a long overcoat, with his hat tilted down in front, and
carrying something in one hand, walked softly but rapidly out of the
black alley. The policeman accosted him civilly, but with the assured
air that is linked with conscious authority. The hour, the alley's musty
reputation, the pedestrian's haste, the burden he carried--these easily
combined into the "suspicious circumstances" that required illumination
at the officer's hands.
The "suspect" halted readily and tilted back his hat, exposing, in the
flicker of the electric lights, an emotionless, smooth countenance with
a rather long nose and steady dark eyes. Thrusting his gloved hand into
a side pocket of his overcoat, he drew out a card and handed it to the
policeman. Holding it to catch the uncertain light, the officer read the
name "Charles Spencer James, M. D." The street and number of the address
were of a neighborhood so solid and respectable as to subdue even
curiosity.
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