"I read your articles in the _Future Age_." "Well, then, who told you about the _Future Age_?" Jack was tempted to try an experiment. "Fellow I used to room with. The hero who croaked old Silas Gyde. Emil Jansen." It had an electrical effect. Barbarossa was out of his chair with a bound. His ruddy cheeks turned a gray color, on which the network of little dark veins stood out startlingly. "Silence! Don't speak that name here! Hero nothing! Madman! Fool! What have you got to do with _him_?" "Why, nothing!" stammered Jack, affecting a great confusion. "Isn't he one of you? Isn't he working for the Cause?" "I don't know him!" cried Barbarossa. "If he claims to be my friend I repudiate him! Such madmen are like to ruin us all!" "But--you said in your article that I read, that the capitalistic order must be overthrown at any cost. That he was a hero who gave up his life to accomplish it." "That's all right in a periodical," said Barbarossa. "They don't care what you write. But murder----!" The fat man shuddered. "I'm a responsible citizen. I've got a wife and four children to think of." Jack thought: "In anarchy, like other religions, there seems to be a considerable gap between preaching and practising." "What did Jansen tell you about me?" demanded Barbarossa. "Nothing particular," said Jack. "He just let on that he admired you, and was trying to live according to your teachings. He read me some out of a book he was writing. He dedicated it to you." "What!" cried Barbarossa. "In writing?" "Yes, it was written down." "And the police searched his room! Oh, my God! I'm done!" He collapsed in his chair. Jack looked at the collapsed mountain of flesh, and suppressed a smile. Not a very formidable object this. "Was it my right name, Sturani?" Barbarossa asked anxiously. "No. He had written: 'To Barbarossa.'" A little color returned to the big man's face. "Oh, well, the police are stupid. Maybe they won't establish the connection. I expect I would have heard from them before this if they had. That's all, Cassels; you can go." "And may I come to the school to-morrow?" "Sure, if you bring the money." From a public booth, Jack telephoned Harmon Evers that he would be right up to change back to his proper person. On the way uptown he sought to digest what he had learned. "Barbarossa is certainly not the man I'm looking for. Just the same, his fright makes it clear that he is at the head of some group that Emil Jansen belonged to. I must join that group. It's hardly possible that Barbarossa himself instigated the attack on Silas Gyde. He's only a paper anarchist. Somewhere back of him I'll find the cagy little 'Mr. B.' again. Lordy! This case lengthens out like a telescope!" "Well!" said Mr. Evers, "you're back early. Did you see any anarchists? How about their hair?" "The main guy of all had a bald spot as big as a saucer. Just a hedge of hair all around like the burning bush in bloom."