“My dear Frank,” said the other quietly, “if there were anything I could do, don’t you think I’d be doing it? It’s a very dark tangle. And first of all I have to clear you—” “Never mind me! What do I care what people think?” “Or what she may think?” Sedgwick’s head drooped. “I didn’t consider that.” “It may be the very center-point for consideration.” “If there were only something to do!” fretted the artist. “It’s this cursed inaction that is getting my nerve!” “If that’s all,” returned Kent slowly, “I’ll give you something to do. And I fancy,” he added grimly, “it will be sufficiently absorbing to take your mind from your troubles for a time at least.” “Bring it on. I’m ready!” “All in good time. Meantime, here’s a little test for your intelligence. Problem,” continued Kent, with a smile: “when the bewildered medieval mind encountered a puzzle too abstruse for ordinary human solution, what was its refuge?” “Magic, I suppose,” said Sedgwick after some consideration. “Good! You get a high mark. The medieval mind, I may observe, was at times worthy of emulation.” “Explain.” “I am seriously thinking, my dear young friend,” said Kent solemnly, “of consulting an astrologer.” “You’re crazy!” retorted Sedgwick. “I wish I were for a few hours,” said Kent with entire seriousness. “It might help.” “Well, that’s where I’ll be if you don’t find something for me to do soon. So, come on, and materialize this promised activity.” “If you regard a trip to the Martindale Public Library as activity, I can furnish that much excitement.” “What are you going to do there?” “Consult the files of the newspapers, and pick out a likely high-class astrologer from the advertisements.” “That has a mild nutty flavor; but it doesn’t excite any profound emotion in me except concern for your sanity.” “You’ve said that before,” retorted Kent. “However, I’m not sure I shall take you with me, anyway.” “Then that isn’t the coming adventure?” “No; nothing so mild and innocuous.” “Are you asking me to run some danger? Is it to see _her_?” said Sedgwick eagerly. “Leave her out of it for the present. There is no question of seeing her now.” The artist sighed and turned away. “But the danger is real enough, and pretty ugly.” “Life isn’t so wholly delightful to me just at present that I wouldn’t risk it in a good cause.” “But this is a bigger risk than life. There’s an enterprise forward which, if it fails, means the utter damning of reputation. What do you say?” “Kent,” said Sedgwick after a moment’s thought, “I’m thirty-two years old. Ten years ago I’d have said ‘yes’ at the drop of the question. Perhaps I value my life less and my good name more, than I did then. What’s the inducement?” “The probable clearing up of the case we’re on.” “Is that all the information I get?” “I’d rather not tell you any more at present. It would only get on your nerves and unfit you for the job.” Again Sedgwick fell into thought.