graph. What he said was true enough. Time had left no marks on the smooth, good-looking face, nor even on a mind that was like a shining, darting minnow. He was as slim and dapper as ever. The hair was much thinner, but it was still dark, and with the aid of grease and shrewd manipulation you couldn't tell that he was really bald. Emma, watching him, had an awful suspicion that it was dyed as well; and the elegant mustaches too. She would be certain to discover, now that he had come back to share the same room and bed. She had a sudden, awful fear that she must look much older than he.
"I'm a little bald," he said ruefully, "but nothing very much."
"Jason," she said sternly. "Jason . . . we've got to settle this thing . . . now . . . before we do anything else. Did any one see you?"
"No, I don't think so." He replaced the pocket mirror with a mild, comic air of alarm at the old note of authority in her voice.
"You must think of something . . . you're better at such things than I am." He had, she remembered, the proper kind of an imagination. She knew from experience how it had worked long ago when he had given her excuses for his behavior.
He looked at her with an absurd air of helplessness. "What can we say? I suppose you could say I lost my memory . . . that I got hit on the head." Suddenly a great light burst upon the empty face. "I did get a fall on the steamer going out. I fell down a stairway and for three days I didn't know a thing. A fall like that might easily make you lose your memory. . . . A thing like that might happen." As if the pos-
