You did not pass, night after night, the sinister house of the woman whose open boast was that, if she wished to, she could take half the roofs off the Avenue.

You did not know how real that terrible threat was, for you never saw the cloaked men issuing from its doors bearing their ghastly burdens.

You have heard of the Burdell murder but you never knew the real solution.
You have read of the Nathan murder at the corner of the Avenue and Twenty-third Street.

But you did not hear, as I heard, that piercing wail, or see the shaking figure that climbed on my rear step at Twenty-fourth Street and rode twenty blocks northward.

A man once wrote an Australian story called 'The Mystery of a Hansom Cab.' My life had not one mystery but a score of mysteries.