“Jesus, Mary and Joseph protect me,” Mary began to murmur rapidly to herself. She shut her eyes and tried to think of Heaven. Her mind had suddenly become void of all sense of knowledge and emotion. She felt an intense cold in every pore of her flesh. As she rambled through the prayer over and over again with her lips, a ridiculous rigmarole of a song went through her mind with a tintillating sound, about, “Piping Tim of Galway.” He sat down beside her on the form, bent towards her and kissed her coldly on the forehead. His cold lips remained on her forehead for three seconds. Then he sighed and got to his feet again. He must keep in movement. He must keep talking. He could not stop his brain from thinking at an enormous rate and the only way to relieve the congestion was by talking aloud. The formation and enunciation of the words deflected a fraction of the brain forces and liquidated them. Faster, faster, wilder, wilder he must talk, to keep pace with the tremendous speed of his heated brain. “Where is he now?” he whispered with a kind of cackle in his throat that was like a laugh. “Where is he now? Why can’t we see with the mind, long distances? How very stupid I am after all in spite of my philosophy. He might be in the police station at this very moment, with a big, fat sergeant taking down his statement.” He shuddered and bit his lip. “Good Lord Mary! If you only knew what a statement he could make. Ha! ha! He and Francis are the only two men in the Organization who could tell anything worth while. And Francis is dead.” He paused. Mary bit her teeth, dispelled the tintillating rigmarole of a song and began another prayer, one to Our Lady of Perpetual Succour. “Ye see, Gypo was so useful. There were things he could do that no other man could do. Not so much by his immense strength, as on account of his particular mental qualities. It’s easy to get as strong a man, but a mind like that is hard to find. I doubt if there is another. He was priceless. Damn him. He’s a superhuman monster. Why did I say _was_ before? He is. _He is._ That’s the worst of it. I wish he . . . The government would give a million pounds for that statement. Good Lord! I never thought Gypo could turn informer. It must have been a mistake. I couldn’t be wrong about him. Some mistake. Sure. He isn’t the type. Sure. I swear he isn’t. How could he be? He responds to me like, like a needle to a magnet. Then how did he inform? On his own pal too! That’s the strange thing about it. I’ve been studying him for eight years and he never showed any signs of personal initiative. Never once. I shouldn’t have dropped him for six months. But of course I had to keep up respect for the rules of the Organization. Good Lord!” he cried pathetically, looking at the ceiling and wringing his hands almost in despair, “I’m alone with nobody to help me. Mary, there’s nobody to give me advice. Why did nobody warn me against expelling Gypo? What?”