Without remark Loder freed himself from the other's touch and walked back to his desk. His anger, his pride, and, against his will, his excitement were all aroused. He sat down, leaned his elbow on the desk and took his face between his hands. The man behind him undoubtedly talked madness; but after five years of dreary sanity madness had a fascination. Against all reason it stirred and roused him. For one instant his pride and his anger faltered before it, then common-sense flowed back again and adjusted the balance. “You propose,” he said, slowly, “that for a consideration of money I should trade on the likeness between us--and become your dummy, when you are otherwise engaged?” Chilcote colored. “You are unpleasantly blunt,” he said. “But I have caught your meaning?” “In the rough, yes.” Loder nodded curtly. “Then take my advice and go home,” he said. “You're unhinged.” The other returned his glance, and as their eyes met Loder was reluctantly compelled to admit that, though the face was disturbed, it had no traces of insanity. “I make you a proposal,” Chilcote repeated, nervously but with distinctness. “Do you accept?” For an instant Loder was at a loss to find a reply sufficiently final. Chilcote broke in upon the pause. “After all,” he urged, “what I ask of you is a simple thing. Merely to carry through my routine duties for a week or two occasionally when I find my endurance giving way--when a respite becomes essential. The work would be nothing to a man in your state of mind, the pay anything you like to name.” In his eagerness he had followed Loder to the desk. “Won't you give me an answer? I told you I am neither mad nor drunk.” Loder pushed back the scattered papers that lay under his arm. “Only a lunatic would propose such a scheme.” he said, brusquely and without feeling. “Why?” The other's lips parted for a quick retort; then in a surprising way the retort seemed to fail him. “Oh, because the thing isn't feasible, isn't practicable from any point of view.” Chilcote stepped closer. “Why?” he insisted. “Because it couldn't work, man! Couldn't hold for a dozen hours.” Chilcote put out his hand and touched his arm. “But why?” he urged. “Why? Give me one unanswerable reason.” Loder shook off the hand and laughed, but below his laugh lay a suggestion of the other's excitement. Again the scene stirred him against his sounder judgment; though his reply, when it came, was firm enough. “As for reasons--” he said. “There are a hundred, if I had time to name them. Take it, for the sake of supposition, that I were to accept your offer. I should take my place in your house at--let us say at dinnertime. Your man gets me into your evening-clothes, and there, at the very start, you have the first suspicion set up. He has probably known you for years--known you until every turn of your appearance, voice, and manner is far more familiar to him than it is to you. There are no eyes like a servant's.”