Alexander's big work-table stood in front of one of the three windows, and above the couch hung the one picture in the room, a big canvas of charming color and spirit, a study of the Luxembourg Gardens in early spring, painted in his youth by a man who had since become a portrait-painter of international renown.

He had done it for Alexander when they were students together in Paris.
Sunday was a cold, raw day and a fine rain fell continuously.

When Alexander came back from dinner he put more wood on his fire, made himself comfortable, and settled down at his desk, where he began checking over estimate sheets.

It was after nine o'clock and he was lighting a second pipe, when he thought he heard a sound at his door.
He started and listened, holding the burning match in his hand; again he heard the same sound, like a firm, light tap.

He rose and crossed the room quickly.