But Paul was quite open with the sergeant. He was in need of advice. His life had been so remote from the world and its affairs, and now he was face to face with big problems and he knew that in the sergeant he had found a friend. He was glad when the sergeant said to him after dinner, “And what about you, Paul?” “Thank you, Sergeant. I’d like to ask you some things.” “Fire ahead, old boy. You know you can ask anything you like.” “First about that—about Sleeman. How do I stand with him. My father’s wife burnt his house down. Don’t I owe him for that?” “Not in law you don’t. The brute deserved it.” “Man to man, Sergeant, as my father’s son, what should I do? What would a man, a man of his class do?” “Man to man, Paul, your father would consider it a debt.” “Thank you, Sergeant. Now, another thing. Do you happen to know anything about my father’s affairs, with Sleeman, I mean? I know that your police go into things pretty thoroughly. I have been thinking a lot.” “You have, Paul. Well, we found out some things, not all we would like but enough to make it worth while for you to go a little deeper, a good deal deeper. Colonel Pelham knows a good deal. He unfortunately is in England just now with his family.” “Oh!” Dismay and disappointment were in the exclamation. “Then I shall see Sleeman.” There was a long silence while the men smoked. They were both looking down the trail that Paul was proposing to follow. Then the sergeant spoke. “Paul, you will have to be careful just at this point. No, wait till I finish. Let me show you what I see from my point of view, as a member of the force, I mean. If men could get things from that point of view they wouldn’t so often make a mess of their lives. You are going to see Sleeman. You must see him. I wish I could be with you, but that won’t do either. But now listen!” The sergeant leaned over to Paul, put his hand on his knee and said with slow emphasis, “You must not do anything to him that you would not do if I were there.” The boy’s face became very grave and quiet. “There will be Another there.” “Another? Who?” asked the sergeant. “God,” said Paul simply. “I’ve always felt like that.” The sergeant was a man not easily dashed, but this time he was plainly dumbfounded. “What I mean is He won’t let me kill him, as I wanted to do once,” continued Paul. “You see, I have thought a lot about this.” A sudden passion shook his voice. “Sergeant, these six years I’ve thought of nothing else. I thought she had killed him. I was sorry it was not I. Then you told me he was alive and I was glad—oh, wild! But as you know, I promised her—and besides I have been thinking it all over again this summer—every day, every night.” His voice was now quiet, almost cold. “I know now I won’t kill him. I won’t be allowed. I may hurt him, may have to, but I won’t do anything—I mean, that I shouldn’t do, that you wouldn’t have me do. No, I won’t, I won’t be allowed.”