“For you, punishment, and, it may be, retribution, to be followed perhaps by the emergence of a soul from your bloated body. For me, suffering too, in a form you cannot understand.” “I decline your terms,” murmured Steindal, moistening his lips again and advancing a pace. “Go!” said Karl, sternly, and, to my utter surprise, the other man turned and quitted the room. We heard him walk steadily down the corridor, and caught the click of his boots as he stepped on to a marble staircase. It was Hooper who broke the queer silence which fell on us. “You seem to have taken the measure of Steindal’s backbone, at any rate?” he commented. “Where I am concerned, he is no longer a free agent,” said Karl, wearily. “Tell me,” I interposed, “why you deal so harshly with a man you have never actually met before to-night?” “Because I loathe such a creature. He represents the pig in man. He has brought horror and abasement to hundreds. Now he must wallow in the only degradation that makes him contemptible in his own esteem. But forgive me if I leave you. You and Hooper can find much to discuss, and I must be alone.” He stood upright, and drew a hand across his eyes. I seemed to perceive a slackening of the muscles of his finely molded frame which was almost a symptom of complete enervation. It was a new and unaccountable alarm which impelled me to say: “Will you go home, Karl, and promise me to try and sleep?” “I am going home,” he replied. “Good-night!” Clearly, he did not desire any courteous leave-taking in the vestibule. I did not offer to accompany him. When I knew that he had descended the stairs--thus avoiding the elevator and its possible publicity--I rejoined Hooper. He was smoking, and his gaze was fixed on the ceiling. I was in no mood for talk just then. More by force of habit than otherwise, I rang for a waiter and ordered whisky and soda. The mere presence of the man, with his servile affability and his laden tray, was a tonic in itself. He brought me back from illimitable depths to the workaday world. “Do you partake?” I asked Hooper. “Yep.” The cigar wedged between his teeth rendered the final labial the easier manner of speech. I found his presence soothing, too. I poured out a small quantity of spirit, and, while the waiter was uncorking a bottle of soda water, I looked out of the window. It was a glorious summer evening when last I saw the streets. Now the flaring lights were reflected in wavering zigzags on road and pavements, while the shining capes of ’bus-drivers and cabmen caught the eye as moving pyramids. “Good heavens!” I cried, “it is raining!” There was a loud report. The attendant had drenched himself. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he stammered, “but you did make me jump, an’ no mistake.” “Better have the remainder of the soda poured over your head,” snapped Hooper at me. “But I tell you it is raining,” I shouted excitedly. “Give it to me, waiter, if you are afraid,” said Hooper, firmly.