Mr. Milburgh drew a long sigh. Of course, he remembered now. Sam Stay had been removed to a lunatic asylum, and he was dimly conscious of the fact that the man had escaped. It was not a pleasant experience, talking with an escaped lunatic. It might, however, be a profitable one. Mr. Milburgh was a man who let very few opportunities slip. What could he make out of this, he wondered? Again Sam Stay supplied the clue. "I'm going to settle with that girl----" He stopped and closed his lips tightly, and looked with a cunning little smile at Milburgh. "I didn't say anything, did I?" he asked with a queer little chuckle. "I didn't say anything that would give me away, did I?" "No, my friend," said Mr. Milburgh, still in the character of the benevolent pastor. "To what girl do you refer?" The face of Sam Stay twisted into a malignant smile. "There's only one girl," he said between his teeth, "and I'll get her. I'll settle with her! I've got something here----" he felt in his pocket in a vague, aimless way. "I thought I had it, I've carried it about so long; but I've got it somewhere, I know I have!" "So you hate Miss Rider, do you?" asked Milburgh. "Hate her!" The little fellow almost shouted the words, his face purple, his eyes starting from his head, his two hands twisted convulsively. "I thought I'd finished her last night," he began, and stopped. The words had no significance for Mr. Milburgh, since he had seen no newspapers that day. "Listen," Sam went on. "Have you ever loved anybody?" Mr. Milburgh was silent. To him Odette Rider was nothing, but about the woman Odette Rider had called mother and the woman he called wife, circled the one precious sentiment in his life. "Yes, I think I have," he said after a pause. "Why?" "Well, you know how I feel, don't you?" said Sam Stay huskily. "You know how I want to get the better of this party who brought him down. She lured him on--lured him on--oh, my God!" He buried his face in his hands and swayed from side to side. Mr. Milburgh looked round in some apprehension. No one was in sight. Odette would be the principal witness against him and this man hated her. He had small cause for loving her. She was the one witness that the Crown could produce, now that he had destroyed the documentary evidence of his crime. What case would they have against him if they stood him in the dock at the Old Bailey, if Odette Rider were not forthcoming to testify against him? He thought the matter over cold-bloodedly, as a merchant might consider some commercial proposition which is put before him. He had learnt that Odette Rider was in London in a nursing home, as the result of a set of curious circumstances.