“But suppose there was something you couldn’t avoid; some――some kind of danger hanging over you? Suppose there was somebody who _wanted_ you to die?” “I’d find out who it was, and if I could manage it I’d jolly well see that he died first.” “Suppose it was somebody you couldn’t get at――somebody you _couldn’t_ kill?” “If he could kill me, I could kill him:――it just depends on who’s cleverest. Professor Moriarty was trying for Sherlock Holmes all the time, but he didn’t get him: it wasn’t Sherlock who went down the precipice.” “But――――” Grif paused. Then he said, “Suppose you couldn’t kill him, because he was already dead?” Palmer’s lips closed tightly. “I don’t like that kind of thing,” he said. “And it’s all rot, anyway.” “I only said it,” Grif protested feebly. “You didn’t only say it. Somebody’s been putting notions into your head, and I know pretty well who it is.” He relapsed into silence for a long time, while Grif watched him with varied feelings, and watched the flickering candle that was growing paler and paler in the broadening daylight. One of these feelings was a desire to break the promise he had made yesterday afternoon to Mr. Bradley. He felt extraordinarily weak and helpless, and Palmer, sitting stolidly beside him, seemed, though there was but two years and a few months between them, the embodiment of all that was strong and sane. At last Palmer turned and looked straight into his eyes. “Will you answer _one_ question if I put it?” “I don’t know.” “You’ve made promises, of course. The boy who tried to raise the devil got the kids to make promises. People of that sort always do. Was it Mr. Bradley who put this idea into your head?” “What idea?” asked Grif, faintly. Palmer continued to look at him, his small, clear, brown eyes holding Grif’s dark frightened ones. “It doesn’t matter,” he said with a curious gentleness. “You needn’t break your word, for I know it was. And what’s more, I know now――I think I know――why he is here, why he came here.” Suddenly he flushed. “It’s a rotten shame! I’ll jolly soon have him fired out of this.” “You――you mustn’t do anything,” Grif whispered. “It’s awfully good of you, Palmer. I mean, you’re awfully decent talking to me this way. But――you mustn’t――――” His voice broke a little and he bit on his lower lip to keep himself from crying. Palmer again patted him on the shoulder. “Whatever I may do, you won’t be in it, so you needn’t worry. And I’m not going to make a fuss, or anything like that. Do you know that if I posted a certain letter to-night you would never see your friend again.... At least, I believe that――I’m almost convinced of it. But I’m going to get more solid proof before I do anything.” His expression changed, and a smile came, first in his eyes, and then spreading to his mouth. “Are you aware that the sun is shining? You’re a nice chap keeping me talking here at this hour. I’ll go and get my pillow.”