He was interrupted by fierce shouts in the street below, the reiterated blasts of a motor-horn, the crash of broken glass, a whir of machinery and yet fiercer shouts. All three rushed to the window. Below them a motor-car was stationary in the midst of a surging mob. The chauffeur lay senseless amid the debris of a shattered wind-screen. In the rear seat a youngish man was defending himself vigorously against the rain of blows showered on him by the mob which clambered on to the vehicle. "My God! Captain Hathaway!" Even as Jim shouted he had turned to dash down the stairs. He flung himself into the fierce mob as once before he had rushed at the knot of Germans with bombs poised to throw, his captain an imminent victim. Old instincts surged to supremacy--he fought his way blindly to the car in a blur of blows. A second later he had dragged a dazed man into the entrance of the house, had slammed the door. "Come on, sir--come upstairs and sit down." Jim forgot for the moment the wretched room to which he invited him. He was living in a memory of the trench days where he had sometimes dreamed that his beloved captain might on some incredible occasion sit at tea with them in a nice little home and tell Ann that her husband had been a good soldier. Half supporting him, he pushed him into the apartment, pulled a box out for him to sit on. "Here you are, sir. Take it easy for a minute. You'll soon be all right." Captain Hathaway put his hand to a damp forehead, looked stupidly at the blood on it, and then, still dazed, stared at his rescuer. "What?--Swain?" He smiled faintly. "For the second time, eh?" "Yes, sir--I'm glad to say!" The tall man picked up his soft hat, glaring from Jim to the employer he had rescued. "Come on, Bruxby," he said, in a voice quivering with anger. "There's nothing more for us here--the man's a d--d scab!" Jim listened to the heavy feet of the pair of them tramping down the staircase. Captain Hathaway looked around him, then took a deep breath and stood up. "I'm all right again now. It's all come back to me. Swain," he put his hand on the man's shoulder, "will you believe me when I say I quite understand--and that's it a shame, a d--d shame! I've been away. I couldn't do anything till now." He looked at the woman by the cradle, held out his hand. "This is Mrs. Swain?" She stood staring at him, making no responsive movement. "Look here, I want to help--here"--his hand dived into his pocket, fished up a bundle of notes--"why, you're starving, woman!" He thrust them into her hand and she let them fall on the floor. "I want work, Captain Hathaway--not charity," said Ann, shaking with temptation resisted. The ex-officer turned to his man. "Swain," he said. "I haven't been blind to all this--but, believe me, I couldn't do anything till now. I want to talk to you. Will you listen to me?"