"You see," continued the man already notorious in two continents, "your paper, here, is inaccurate in several important particulars! Your premises are incorrect, and your inferences consequently wrong!" Sheard stared at him, silent, astounded. "I have been described in the Press of England and America as an incendiary, because I burned the Runek Mills; as a maniac, because I compensated men cruelly thrown out of employment; as a thief, because I took from the rich in Park Lane and gave to the poor on the Embankment. I say that this is unjust!" His eyes gleamed into a sudden blaze. The delicate, white hand that held Sheard's manuscript gripped it so harshly that the paper was crushed into a ball. That Severac Bablon was mad seemed an unavoidable conclusion; that he was forceful, dominant, a power to be counted with, was a truth legible in every line of his fine features, in every vibrant tone of his voice, in the fire of his eyes. The air of the study seemed charged with his electric passion. Then, in an instant, he regained his former calm. Rising to his feet, he threw off the heavy coat he wore and stood, a tall, handsome figure, with his hands spread out, interrogatively. "Do I look such a man?" he demanded. Despite the theatrical savour of the thing, Sheard could not but feel the real sincerity of his appeal; and, as he stared, wondering, at the fine brow, the widely-opened eyes, the keen nostrils and delicate yet indomitable mouth and chin, he was forced to admit that here was no mere up-to-date cracksman, but something else, something more. "Is he mad?" flashed again through his mind. "No!" smiled Severac Bablon, dropping back into the chair; "I am as sane as you yourself!" "Have I questioned it?" "With your eyes and the left corner of your mouth, yes!" Sheard was silent. "I shall not weary you with a detailed exculpation of my acts," continued his visitor; "but you have a list on your table, no doubt, of the people whom I forced to assist the Embankment poor?" Sheard nodded. "Mention but one whose name has ever before been associated with charity; I mean the charity that has no relation to advertisement! You are silent! You say"--glancing over the unfinished article--"that 'this was a capricious burlesque of true philanthropy.' I reply that it served its purpose--of proclaiming my arrival in London and of clearly demonstrating the purpose of my coming! You ask who are my accomplices! I answer--they are as the sands of the desert! You seek to learn who I am. Seek, rather, to learn _what_ I am!" "Why have you selected me for this--honour?" "I overheard some remarks of yours, contrasting a restaurant supper-room with the Embankment which appealed to me! But, to come to the point, do you believe me to be a rogue?" Sheard smiled a trifle uneasily.