D. H. Lawrence once said that his memoir of Maurice Magnus, written in 1922, was "the best single piece of writing, as writing, that I have ever done." Maurice Magnus was a fascinating, almost comically well-educated ne'er-do-well, small and red-faced and strutting, who, once he was introduced to the writer, began crossing his path unexpectedly yet regularly, usually looking for a handout, and quickly turned from an amusing, affectionate acquaintance into a stalking menace, "a mongrel," "a vampire," "a curse." He was also a literary inspiration.

Mr. Douglas here attempts to clear up a literary mystery. A very rare essay.