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The interior of a down-town office. DR. THORNE is seen in the consulting room; the door is closed into the reception room. One gas-jet burns over the desk; patient's chair and physician's chair are seen in the usual places; the desk is in order for the night; a movable telephone, of the kind in use in offices, stands upon the desk.
DR. THORNE (_throws himself heavily into his revolving chair_). What the devil am I here for? (_Violently. The light grows dim as he says this._) Why in -- why in the name of all the laws of Nature cannot I get home? (_After a pause, brokenly._) Well -- well! It's something to be here; to get out of the street -- in out of the night -- it's a good deal. I'd begun to understand how outcasts feel -- felons, apparitions, fugitives. In the name of the laws of mystery, thank Heaven for so much! (_The light brightens. It reveals his face, which is haggard and pinched. He pushes his case books about, aimlessly. Suddenly his hand hits the receiver of the telephone.