As weeks went by Haworth’s anxieties about Edith came to be unbearable—the thought of her having to live in that comfortless shanty and being subjected, at such a time, to the brutalities of her liquor-crazed husband. Finally, in desperation, he went to Mr. Trescott for advice, explaining that the Findlays were relatives of old Cripps and that he (Haworth) had taken them in at the mansion for a while, though they were now in a house of their own; that Mr. Findlay was brutal and loathsome in every respect, often drinking to excess and at such times abusing and browbeating his wife and frequently terrorizing her with a revolver; so that, now she was to be confined, he feared she’d not only have no care, but be seriously injured in some way. “I suppose it wouldn’t do for her to have the trouble and anxiety of divorcing him—now?” “I—I’m afraid not.” “Can’t she go home to her mother or family?” “No.” (Shaking his head). “She hasn’t any.” “Alone in the world, eh?” “Not so good as that. She’s with him.” “I see.... Treats her badly, you say?” “I don’t think that’s quite the word for it.” “You said something about a revolver?” Haworth nodded in affirmation. “That he threatened her with it?” “Yes.” “Did anyone see him do that?” The young man hesitated for an instant; then, “I did—once.” “Then this threatening with a revolver took place in your presence?” “Yes.” “Did you interfere in any way?” “Yes; I took it away from him.” Mr. Trescott regarded Haworth with peculiar interest for an instant. Finally he said: “If the fellow’s slamming around, threatening his wife with firearms, we can get the patrolman on that beat to keep an eye on him. Write the address for me.” “But it’s no place for her there, where he might come in crazy drunk any minute. Isn’t there some way so she can be kept away from him—so he can’t get to her?” “I’m afraid not, Mr. Haworth, unless he——” Mr. Trescott broke off as a possibility occurred to him. “Has he any money?” he asked. “Enough, I mean, to have her well taken care of—private hospital and all that?” “Yes.” “Oh, he _has_! Well, do you think there’s any way to make him do it? It’s going to cost something, you know.” “He’ll do it.” “That’s the thing, then.” Trescott wrote an address on a desk pad and scribbled a few words below. “See the doctor personally. Tell his secretary it’s from me.” He handed the address to Haworth. “He’ll see that she’s sent to the right place. And I rather think they can let her come along awhile before. She’ll have nurses, doctors, everything, and nobody’ll be allowed to see her that might have the least unfavorable effect—you understand. As I say, it’s going to be rather expensive. You feel quite positive the fellow can stand it?” He was watching the young man narrowly as he put the question. “Yes.”