then repaired to his library where he read or wrote until noon. I found that he was engaged in compiling a compendium of philosophy, one volume of which had already been published and which had procured for him a great measure of literary fame. His heart was wrapped up in his work. It had more charms to him than the love of woman to an abandoned rake, or dice to a gambler. Once seated there before his manuscript he permitted nothing to interrupt him, except noise—at which he raged like a madman. I have seen him bend murderous glances on Butts—entering by chance with some persistent visitor's pasteboard. I, however, came and went as I pleased with his medicines, which I obliged him to take at the proper hours. For me he had always a smile, impatient truly, but a smile; for I wore shoes of felt, and from careful practice my voice became more softly modulated every day. At noon Sir William went out for a walk in the park, and for lunch at his restaurant. He returned at three and worked steadily until seven, when I dressed him for dinner, for which he also went abroad. From ten o'clock until midnight he worked again, when I put him to bed. Such was our daily round for six days in every week. On the seventh Sir William arose an hour earlier than usual, and immediately after breakfast he left the house and seldom returned until past midnight. What he did or where he went on those occasions I could not by any means discover, for Butts was as ignorant as I, and I dared not ask our master. I determined that one day in the near future I would follow him, but I could not do so immediately, because of Butts. Visitors came to the house at times, but he seldom received any, and if he saw his friends at all it must have been during meals. I directed my leisure hours to the perfection of the plan I had formed for my own aggrandisement. In that behalf I prosecuted diligent inquiries concerning the six gentlemen who were my master's monthly guests. I could learn very little of them it is true, try how I would, and nothing at all of the curious link of agreement which I knew bound them together. But I found that they were all men of private fortune and of great esteem in the world of learning; also that each of them, like my master, was passionately devoted to a particular intellectual hobby horse. Sir Charles Venner, it seemed, had already spent ten years of research in extending the acquaintance of science with the functions of the thyroid gland. Dr. Fulton's ambition was to discover some great destructive to the bacillus of bubonic plague, yet otherwise harmless to the human system. Mr. Humphreys was engaged upon a propagandist mission to teach the masses the blessings of what he called "Purer Socialism." Mr. Cavanagh painted riddles of pictures for the Academy, which his brother Academicians wished, without daring, to reject. Mr. Nevil Pardoe wrote problem plays, and Mr. Husband was a naval expert. Like my master, all were confirmed bachelors who had acquired a reputation for misogyny because they remorselessly eschewed society. Earnest workers and infernal idiots! So I came to regard them the more I heard of them. Indeed, who but a fool would prefer to waste his life in barren study, when he might squire instead such exquisitely beautiful dames as I saw and coveted every time I wandered down Piccadilly or the Row?

The secret of my master's monthly entertainments cost me many an unquiet night of puzzled thought and anxious contemplation. I tried to believe that he and his six fellow students had simply agreed to assemble periodically at Sir William Dagmar's house in order to enjoy a quiet gamble as a recreation from their ordinary and persistent labours, and also to gratify a morbid desire of marking the ravages which their common disease had made in each other since their last meeting. Some instinct, however, forbade me to rest satisfied with an explanation so simple. Why, I asked myself, should they always converse in French, if they had nothing better worthy of concealing? Why, again, should they subscribe weekly to a common fund, the combined fruits of which evidently passed into one man's keeping at the dictation of the dice? That seemed a curious thing, and it was a circumstance all the more puzzling to account for, since they gambled at cards for high stakes as well. Was it just possible that the winner of the cheque was bound, by rule, to apply the money to some esoteric purpose? I felt inclined to suspect it was! But what then? I watched Sir William, the last winner of the cheque, as a cat might a mouse for three weeks—but I discovered nothing. I censored his correspondence with a like result. Every Monday morning he gave me a letter to post to Mr. Cavanagh. I opened those over a bowl of steam, but each only contained a crossed and unnegotiable cheque for £250, with never a line of explanation. As for the rest of his post budget, he received many letters, but he answered none, and his correspondents seemed to be for the most part beggars. The mystery irritated me so much that it began to trouble my sleep. Butts also annoyed me. He developed such a fancy for my company that I was obliged to lock my door whenever I wished to be alone; and I frequently wished to be alone, for my great plan required that I should be able to imitate at will Sir William Dagmar's every look and gesture, his every tone and trick of speech. I foresaw that I should have to get rid of Butts. He was a naturally inquisitive, interfering fellow. But I reflected that when I had got rid of him, it would be necessary for me to perform his duties as well as my own, if I wished to have a clear field for my designs. If Sir William engaged another footman, I should have my work to do all over again. With that end in view, I persuaded Butts to instruct me in the business of ordering and providing the monthly dinners, cleaning silver, and so forth. Pride is not one of my weaknesses, as I have remarked before. I felt able to assume his post in a very few days, just two days indeed before the next monthly dinner was due. That very night I dressed myself up to resemble my master, and marched stealthily downstairs into the pantry about the hour when I knew, from experience, that Butts enjoyed a first night-cap of port wine. There he stood, a bottle before him, glass in hand.

"Butts!" said I, without preliminary, "I was wrong to forgive you for stealing my wine. But I wished to give you a chance—No, don't speak to me, Butts. You have had your chance and wasted it. If you are not out of my house before breakfast hour to-morrow, I shall give you in charge of the police. If, however, you make the least noise in taking your boxes downstairs, I shall prosecute you in any case. Be careful, therefore! Good night, Butts!"

I left him standing like a frozen image, staring after me. Half an hour later he came to my room and poured the whole story into my sympathetic ears. He was almost drunk, and bitterly incensed with my master, also he was terribly afraid of the police. I sincerely commiserated with him, and earned his undying gratitude by forcing into his hand one of the sovereigns of which I had previously despoiled him, and which I had had no occasion to spend, for Butts had put me in the way of replenishing my wardrobe on the credit system. I felt truly sorry for Butts, but he had to go. He stood in my way. My philosophy is embraced in the maxim, "First person paramount." I may be thought inhuman by some of the people who read these memoirs, but I dare swear that none will consider me a fool. The surest way to succeed in life is to kick down as soon as may be the ladders by which one climbs. To do otherwise is to court disaster, for envy is the most powerful passion of the soul, and envy is inevitably excited by contemplation of the successes of our equals or inferiors.

When I had half dressed Sir William on the following morning, I broke my fixed habit of silence.

"If you please, sir," I said very softly, "I have something to inform you which I fancy you should know."

My master looked as much surprised as if he had previously considered me