"He died immediately. The second event was contemporaneous with the first." "And in consequence of it?" "Certainly." "Have all the members who retired from your list been equally short-lived?" "Without any exception whatever." "Then your Society, after all your high-flown talk about it, is only a vulgar murder club," I said bitterly. "Wrong in fact, and impertinent in its expression. It is not a murder club, and--well, you are the first to discover its vulgarity." "I call things by their plain names. You may call your Society what you please. As to my joining it in face of what you have told me--" "Which is more than was ever told to any man before he joined--to any man living or dead. And more, you need not join it yet unless you still wish to do so. I presume what I have said will prevent you." "On the contrary, if I had any doubt, or if there was any possibility of my wavering before this interview, there is none now. I join at once." He would have taken my hand, but that I could not permit. I left him without another word, or any form of salute, and returned to the house. I did not appear again in the domestic circle that evening, for I had enough upon my mind without further burdening myself with social pretences. I sat in my room and tried once more to consider my position. It was this: for the sake of a girl whom I had only met some score of times; who sometimes acted, talked, dressed after a fashion suggestive of insanity; who had glorious dark eyes, a perfect figure, and an exquisitely beautiful face--but I interrupt myself. For the sake of this girl, and for the manifestly impossible purpose of protecting her from herself as well as others, I had surrendered myself to the probable vengeance of a band of cut-throats if I betrayed them, and to the certain vengeance of the law if I did not. Brande, notwithstanding his constant scepticism, was scrupulously truthful. His statement of fact must be relied upon. His opinions were another matter. As nothing practical resulted from my reflections, I came to the conclusion that I had got into a pretty mess for the sake of a handsome face. I regretted this result, but was glad of the cause of it. On this I went to bed. Next morning I was early astir, for I must see Natalie Brande without delay, and I felt sure she would be no sluggard on that splendid summer day. I tried the lawn between the house and the lake shore. I did not find her there. I found her friend Miss Metford. The girl was sauntering about, swinging a walking-cane carelessly. She was still rationally dressed, but I observed with relief that the rational part of her costume was more in the nature of the divided skirt than the plain knickerbockers of the previous day. She accosted me cheerfully by my surname, and not to be outdone by her, I said coolly: "How d'ye do, Metford?" "Very well, thanks. I suppose you expected Natalie? You see you have only me."