“Then read him again and you'll understand. I have all the horrors--without any art. I have no 'Ladies of Sorrow,' but I have worse monsters than his 'crocodile'.” He laughed unpleasantly. Loder turned. “Why in the devil's name--” he began; then again he halted. Something in Chilcote's drawn, excited face checked him. The strange sense of predestination that we sometimes see in the eyes of another struck cold upon him, chilling his last attempt at remonstrance. “What do you want me to do?” he substituted, in an ordinary voice. The words steadied Chilcote. He laughed a little. The laugh was still shaky, but it was pitched in a lower key. “You--you're quite right to pull me up. We have no time to waste. It must be one o'clock.” He pulled out his watch, then walked to the window and stood looking down into the shadowy court. “How quiet you are here!” he said. Then abruptly anew thought struck him and he wheeled back into the room. “Loder,” he said, quickly---“Loder, I have an idea! While you are me, why shouldn't I be you? Why shouldn't I be John Loder instead of the vagrant we contemplated? It covers everything--it explains everything. It's magnificent! I'm amazed we never thought of it before.” Loder was still beside the desk. “I thought of it,” he said, without looking back. “And didn't suggest it?” “No.” “Why?” Loder said nothing and the other colored. “Jealous of your reputation?” he said, satirically. “I have none to be jealous of.” Chilcote laughed disagreeably. “Then you aren't so for gone in philosophy as I thought. You have a niche in your own good opinion.” Again Loder was silent; then he smiled. “You have an oddly correct perception at times,” he said. “I suppose I have had a lame sort of pride in keeping my name clean. But pride like that is out of fashion--and I've got to float with the tide.” He laughed, the short laugh that Chilcote had heard once or twice before, and, crossing the room, he stood beside his visitor. “After all,” he said, “what business have I with pride, straight or lame? Have my identity, if you want it. When all defences have been broken down one barrier won't save the town.” Laughing again, he laid his hand on the other's arm. “Come,” he said, “give your orders. I capitulate.” An hour later the two men passed from Loder's bed room, where the final arrangements had been completed, back into the sitting-room. Loder came first, in faultless evening-dress. His hair was carefully brushed, the clothes he wore fitted him perfectly. To any glance, critical or casual, he was the man who had mounted the stairs and entered the rooms earlier in the evening. Chilcote's manner of walking and poise of the head seemed to have descended upon him with Chilcote's clothes. He came into the room hastily and passed to the desk.