Also, if the chance came, he meant to inform Hitchin that Mary was not Mrs. Boller at all, if it could be contrived without casting too much of a slur on Mary--although that could wait until they learned the cause of Hitchin's pale cheek and his keen, excited eye. Hitchin, however, had relaxed in the most curious fashion; he was smiling whimsically at Anthony now and, although his eye was across the room, one felt that it could turn with one one-thousandth of a second's warning and peer through Anthony's soul. "Fry," he said thoughtfully, "I have been interested in crime for a good many years. I have, as it were, dabbled in it partly for the love of the thing and partly because, on one occasion or another, it has been possible for me to extend help that would not otherwise have been extended." "That's a mysterious statement," Anthony said. "Crime--some of it--is mysterious," smiled Mr. Hitchin. "Motives are usually more mysterious. Mistaken motives--motives formed under misapprehension--are most mysterious of all. But the consequences of crime," said Mr. Hitchin, whirling suddenly on Anthony, "are inevitable, inescapable as the rising of the sun." Johnson Boller shook his head. The man had always been queer; now, overnight, he, too, had gone crazy! Anthony, who was largely nerves this morning, asked: "What the devil are you talking about, anyway? I'm not trying to be unpleasant, Hitchin, but I'm not myself this morning and this rambling discourse about crime is rather trying." "You are not yourself this morning?" Hitchin repeated slowly, with a very keen smile at Anthony. "No." "Why are you not yourself this morning, Fry?" "What? Because I lost some sleep last night, I suppose." "Ah!" Hitchin cried softly. "And why did you lose some sleep last night?" Anthony's patience snapped. "See here, Hitchin!" he cried. "I like to be polite and hospitable as possible, but why on earth I should sit here and answer your ridiculous questions I cannot see." Hobart Hitchin laughed, a low, rippling, sinister laugh that chilled the hearer without giving a clue to the reason for the chill. "Shall I show you why it were better for you to answer, Fry?" he purred. "No!" "Oh, but I'd better," insisted the crime student. "Fry, let us go back a few hours. You returned home last night about midnight, I think--fifteen or twenty minutes before the hour?" "Yes." "There was with you a young man named David Prentiss?" "Of course." "Then here is the reason for my questions!" cried Hobart Hitchin, and his whole personality seemed aflame. "Anthony Fry, _where is David Prentiss_?" CHAPTER X The Web Just the manner of the man startled Anthony and caused him to hitch back in his chair and stare for an instant. Johnson Boller was not so affected. "Say, what's the matter with you, Hitchin?" he asked. "Are you a plain nut?" Hitchin snapped his fingers at him angrily and continued his stare at Anthony Fry. "Well?" he said tensely.