"I will, if you'll give me the chance." She paused, and for a moment we walked on in a rather queer silence. Then suddenly the trees by the roadside gave way, and a blaze of sunshine enfiladed us. That seemed to give her impulse to continue. She said abruptly: "The fact is, Hilton, he hasn't the remotest idea that Karelsky's been thieving from him at all." "But----" "It's no good protesting. I know it all sounds incredible. But it's true enough.... When I got here yesterday he was different--utterly different; I knew something had happened the moment I saw him. I thought he was hysterical at first.... Then I found he was absolutely wild with delight." "_Delight_?" "Yes; and I mean it. He thinks--oh, it's so difficult to tell you _what_ he thinks. But--somehow or other--he regards Karelsky's speech as a sort of justification of all the work he's done. He says it shows he's been working on the right lines." "He recognizes his own work in Karelsky's announcements, then?" "Oh, yes.... That's the queer part of it. Maybe he thinks Karelsky was entitled to do what he did.... I don't know. He doesn't talk about that. He's just pleased (he says) because his work's been worth doing." "Worth stealing, anyhow." "Yes, I know.... It's easy to be sarcastic. I tell you--it hasn't occurred to him that he's been let down at all. On the contrary, he thinks it's great that his seven years of hard labour should have led to such a magnificent result." "Now _you're_ being sarcastic." She shrugged her shoulder. "I'm trying not to be. I'm trying to look at it from _his_ point of view. He really is sincere. I'm certain of that, because of the difference in him. _You'll_ notice that. And he's working again like mad--trying, he says, to make up for a wasted year." "But surely, when you put it to him, he could see what had happened?" She said quietly: "I didn't put it to him. I didn't put anything to him.... And that's just what I want to talk to you about...." We talked. That quiet country lane, dappled in sunshine, wound upwards to the windy cross-roads, and all the way we argued whether a man who had been the unknowing victim of robbery should be told about it by his friends. Perhaps it isn't fair to put it like that. She wasn't arguing the general case; it was only of Terry that she was thinking. Briefly, her idea was that we should leave things where they were. Since the truth hadn't occurred to him, what was the use of trying to prove it to him? I answered her as well as I could. I told her that my whole mind and soul revolted against letting Karelsky go scot-free. We ought to fight, and Terry ought to fight--even if we didn't win. Severn thought so, anyway, for he intended to back Terry in a law-suit....