"I thought that all out yesterday," said Andrew, "and I am amazed at the society's success in escaping detection." "I feared this," said the president. "You are mistaken. We don't always escape detection. Sometimes we are caught--" "Caught?" "Yes, and hanged." "But if that is so, why does it not get into the papers?" "The papers are full of it." Andrew looked incredulous. "In the present state of the law," said the president, "motive in a murder goes for nothing. However iniquitous this may be--and I do not attempt to defend it--we accept it as a fact. Your motives may have been unexceptionable, but they hang you all the same. Thus our members when apprehended preserve silence on this point, or say that they are Fenians. This is to save the society. The man who got fifteen years the other day for being found near St. Stephen's with six infernal machines in his pockets was really one of us. He was taking them to be repaired." "And the other who got ten years the week before?" "He was from America, but it was for one of our affairs that he was sentenced. He was quite innocent. You see the dynamiters, vulgarly so called, are playing into our hands. Suspicion naturally falls on them. He was our fifth." "I had no idea of this," murmured Andrew. "You see what a bad name does," said the president. "Let this be a warning to you, Andrew." "But is this quite fair?" "As for that, they like it--the leading spirits, I mean. It gives them a reputation. Besides, they hurt as well as help us. It was after their appearance that the authorities were taught to be distrustful. You have little idea of the precautions taken nowadays. There is Sir William Harcourt, for instance, who is attended by policemen everywhere. I used to go home from the House behind him nightly, but I could never get him alone. I have walked in the very shadow of that man, but always in a company." "You were never arrested yourself?" asked Andrew. "I was once, but we substituted a probationer." "Then did he--was he--" "Yes, poor fellow." "Is that often done?" "Sometimes. You perhaps remember the man who went over the Embankment the night we met? Well, if I had been charged with that, you would have had to be hanged." Andrew took a seat to collect his thoughts. "Was that why you seemed to take to me so much?" he asked, wistfully. "It was only one reason," said the president, soothingly. "I liked you from the first." "But I don't see," said Andrew, "why I should have suffered for your action." For the moment, his veneration for this remarkable man hung in the balance. "It would have been for the society's sake," said the president, simply; "probationers are hardly missed." His face wore a pained look, but there was no reproach in his voice. Andrew was touched. He looked the apology, which, as a Scotchman, he could not go the length of uttering.