I rose, surprised that any one should seek to enter without knocking. Then the door opened, and Steindal appeared. I learned afterwards that he had recovered very rapidly from his seeming madness, and had persuaded the hotel attendants to leave him alone, on the plea that he would sleep. A doctor, too, summoned hastily, bore out his statement that he was in a normal condition of health. By tipping a housemaid, who knew nothing of the scene in the restaurant, he reached my room. So far as I could judge, he was unarmed. Nevertheless, I barred the way, but he paid no heed to me. He dodged, in order to see Karl. “I want to speak to you,” he said thickly, addressing Karl. “Come in, then,” was the answer. Thinking that three of us could surely overpower him at once if he attempted violence, I stood aside. Seen in the half-light of the corridor, Steindal looked his own tubby, commonplace self, but the bright interior of the room revealed the rough usage to which he had been subjected. His chin was scratched, his collar and shirt loosened by the breaking of a stud, the breast-pocket of his coat was torn, and his long, black, smooth hair ruffled. The expression of his face offered a study in physiology. The corners of his thick, salacious lips turned upward with the scowl of an enraged animal. His eyes, usually black and beady, were now dark red, and darting shifting glances at all parts of Karl’s body. Their constant movement was fascinating. If you have ever seen a bull-fight, and watched the last stand of the Andalusian monarch of the herd as he faces the matador, well aware that the bright straight blade in the man’s right hand is ready to seek his heart’s blood, yet compelled to watch the flutterings of a bit of red silk on the _muleta_ in his predestined slayer’s left hand, you will form some notion of the suppressed fury which gleamed from Steindal’s quickly-moving eyes. Yet his voice, though it had lost its smoothness, was well under control. “Whatever else you may be, I don’t suppose you are a coward,” said he. I believe, to this day, that Steindal could actually smell blood in that instant. His nostrils twitched slightly, and his tongue darted forth to salivate his lips. Hooper and I might have been non-existent for all the heed he paid to us. “No, I am not,” said Karl. “Then you will travel with me to France to-morrow?” “That would be useless, Steindal. I can paralyze your arm, root you immovable to the ground.” “Ah, but that would make you, indeed, a coward. Yet, I take the chance. I will fight you with my hands tied, if need be. My teeth will serve.” “I cannot fight you,” said Karl, slowly. “I refuse to murder you, and certainly I shall not let you murder me. No, Steindal, you must live. I am sorry to be so hard on you, but you really must continue to exist.” “Is that your final answer?” “Absolutely.” “Do you assign a cause?”