I then signed myself, 'Alport Webster, Imperial Flats,
London, W.'
I may here explain that it is often necessary for me to see people
under some other name than the well-known appellation of Eugene
Valmont. There are two doors to my flat, and on one of these is
painted, 'Eugene Valmont'; on the other there is a receptacle, into
which can be slipped a sliding panel bearing any _nom de guerre_ I
choose. The same device is arranged on the ground floor, where the
names of all the occupants of the building appear on the right-hand
wall.
I sealed, addressed, and stamped my letter, then told my man to put
out the name of Alport Webster, and if I did not happen to be in when
anyone called upon that mythical person, he was to make an appointment
for me.
It was nearly six o'clock next afternoon when the card of Angus
Macpherson was brought in to Mr. Alport Webster. I recognised the young
man at once as the second who had entered the little shop carrying his
tribute to Mr. Simpson the day before. He held three volumes under his
arm, and spoke in such a pleasant, insinuating sort of way, that I
knew at once he was an adept in his profession of canvasser.
'Will you be seated, Mr. Macpherson? In what can I serve you?'
He placed the three volumes, backs upward, on my table.
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