“I wouldn’t, if I were you, say the same thing over not more than twenty times,” said Vicars, sulkily; “and you won’t have no airing, I can tell you, if you don’t come off to bed.” “That’s Vicars all over,” said the smiling patient. “Vicars all over! You would think he’s my master--and he’s only my servant! Yes--yes, it’s all paid, and everything right--or how could I go out for an airing to-morrow? There is plenty in the pocket-book for everybody. You know--in the pocket-book. Eh! My! Where’s my pocket-book?” he cried, suddenly changing his tone and searching in his breast-pocket. “Vicars, do you hear? My pocket-book! Where’s my pocket-book? It’s not where I always have it--I keep it here, you know, to keep it safe. My pocket-book!” cried the poor maniac, tossing Vicars from him and waving his arms wildly. His distracted eyes caught at this moment the figure of Dolff standing against the wall. Dolff had uncovered his pale and miserable countenance: he was standing in the shade, mysterious, half seen, with that very pale face looking out from the semi-dark. The madman rushed towards him with a cry. “There’s the thief! There’s the thief! Get hold of him before he gets away! He’s got my pocket-book--lay hold of him! I’m not strong enough,” he added, turning round with an explanatory look, “to do it myself. Never getting any air you know, as I couldn’t till things were settled. I’ve got very little strength.” “I thought,” said Vicars, “as taking that pocket-book from him was a mistake! He’s always a-looking back upon that pocket-book! You’ll have to give it him back.” “Don’t you remember, sir,” said Meredith, holding up a sealed packet, “that you gave it to me to put it up--look at the seals, you stamped them yourself. You gave it to me to pay off everything. Try to remember. Here it is, safe and sound. You gave it to me yourself.” “And who the devil are you,” said the invalid, “that I should give you all my money? You’re not one of them: some fellow, Vicars, that Julia has picked up. She’s always picking people up. Give it back, make him give it back, Vicars--my money that’s meant to pay off everybody! Give it back--back! I tell you I’ll pay them all myself! I’ll go out to-morrow in the wheel-chair--you know, Vicars, the wheel-chair for the airing--and pay them all myself!” “Who is it,” said Dolff, coming forward out of the gloom, “who has to be paid back? and who is this man? For you all seem to know.” “Come, come, sir,” said Vicars; “it’s your time for bed. You’ll not go nowhere, neither for an airing nor to pay them debts of yours, if you don’t come straight off to bed.” “Who is he?” cried Dolff, pushing upon the group. “Who are you? For I will know.” To the surprise of all, the madman, who had been so self-confident, suddenly shrank behind Vicars, and, catching his arm, pulled him towards the door that led to the wing.