thing into my hand. It felt as if it were something hard, wrapped in a piece of paper.
“For helping whom?”
“The Great God.”
She dropped her voice to a whisper. I had not the vaguest inkling of her meaning.
“What do you mean?—What is this you have given me?”
“It is the God of Fortune; it will bring you good luck. Tell me your name.”
“My name? What has my name to do with you? Whatever is this? I cannot take it from you; thank you all the same.”
I held out to her the little packet she had pressed into my palm. She ignored it; repeating her inquiry.
“Tell me your name, quick!”
There was a curious insistence in her manner which tickled what I, with sufficient egotism, call my sense of humour. She spoke as if she had but to command for me to obey; I obeyed. I furnished her not only with my name, but, also, with my address. There was no harm done. I am a solicitor; figure on the law list; advertisement, of some sort, is to me something very much like bread and cheese. Without thanking me, or dropping a hint to explain her curiosity, so soon as I had supplied her with the information she demanded, turning, she flew off down the street like some wild thing. I doubt if I could have kept pace with her had I tried. I did not try. I let her go.
“This is a night of adventures,” I said to myself. “What is the present which the lady’s given me; the money which I paid the cabman?—Hallo!—That’s queer!”
I was beginning to tear open the piece of paper, and with that intent had already twisted off a corner, when, hey presto! it opened of its own accord, just as
