"He won't tell. That kind of man doesn't squeal. If it had been Ronald Morelle, I'd have been on my way to South America by now. A word from Sault and I'm--" he snapped his fingers, "but do you think it worries me? I can sleep and go about my work without a second's fear. That's the kind of man I am. No nerves--look at my hand." He thrust out his heavy paw stiffly. "Steady as a rock, huh? Good boy, Sault!" "I met him once--" began Ronnie. "I've met him more than once," said the grim Steppe. "A man with strange compelling eyes, the only fellow that ever frightened me!" He looked at Ronald curiously. "It is unbelievable that a white-livered devil like you can see him die. It would make me sick. And yet you, whose nerves ought to be rags considering the filthy life you live, can stand calmly by--ugh! I don't know how you can do it! To see a man's soul go out!" Ronnie laughed quickly. "Sault's rather keen on his soul. Boyle, the governor, says he recited Henley's poem on his way to the cells." But Steppe did not laugh. "Soul? H'm. He made me believe in something--soul or spirit or--something. He dominated me. Do you believe in the soul, Merville?" "Yes, I do. A transient _x_ that only abides in the body at the will of its host." Ronnie groaned wearily. "Oh, God, are you going to lecture?" he asked and Jan Steppe roared at him. "Shut up! Go on, Merville. Do you mean that it leaves the body before--death?" "I think so," said Merville thoughtfully. "I've often stood by the side of a patient desperately sick, and suddenly felt in my body his despair and weakness, and seen him brighten and flush with my strength." "Really?" Steppe's voice was intense. "Do you mean that your spirits have exchanged themselves?" Dr. Merville flicked the ash of his cigar into the fireplace. "Call it 'spirit', 'soul', 'X', anything you like--call it individuality. There has been a momentary exchange." "How do you explain it?" "Science doesn't explain everything," said Merville. "Science accepts a whole lot of what we call 'incommensurables'." "H'm," Steppe pushed away the papers and rose. "H'm. That'll do for the night. Keep those papers, you fellows, and digest them. You going out, Morelle?" "No, would you like me to go anywhere with you?" Ronnie was eager to serve. "No," shortly. "Merville, I'm dining with you tomorrow. And I hope Beryl won't have a headache this time. I've got a box at the Pantheon." The doctor was obviously embarrassed. "She--well, she isn't very bright just now." "Let her be bright enough to come to dinner tomorrow night," said Steppe. The door banged and Ronnie drew a deep breath. "Thank God," he said piously. XIII François went after them, not unhappy to detach himself from a tense and threatening atmosphere, his resentment against his employer somewhat modified when he reached home, by a letter from his visiting brother announcing the postponement of his departure from Switzerland.