I went out into the streets, and made my way to the rooms occupied by Fanshawe. Not that I wanted to see the man: I hated him too cordially for that; but that I felt I must be strong for the work that was before me, and must get some proper rest. I was worn out already with that long night spent in tramping about the streets; I knew I must sleep, if sleep was possible; I set all my mind upon that, because so much depended on whether my nerves served me well when the time came for what I had to do. Fanshawe was out when I arrived, but he came back within a few minutes--coming into the room in some excitement, I thought, as though he had been hurried. He tossed his hat on to the bed, and came across to where I was seated, and clapped me on the shoulder jocosely. "Well, my Charlie!" he exclaimed, "what's the news with you--eh?" I looked up at him sourly enough. "No news," I replied. "No sign of the girl yet? No whisper of where she is?" I faced round upon him angrily. "Leave her name alone," I said. "If I knew anything I shouldn't tell you, and I warn you that if you try to meddle in any way in the matter, you'll have to reckon with me in a fashion you little suspect. Mind--I mean it!" I had half expected that he would fly into a passion, as I had seen him do on other occasions; instead, he looked at me almost wistfully out of his deep eyes for a moment before he turned away. "You won't understand, Charlie," he said. "I only want to help the girl--I only want her to think well of me." I laughed at him openly; I thought he played the game poorly enough; I felt that he had perhaps got a notion that if he was soft with me, I might be led to tell him anything I knew. I hardened my heart; for I had had too much of this man not to be able to judge him for what he really was. He brought out some liquor presently, and I, being faint and weary, readily drank with him. Not a word was said for a long time; until presently, leaning across the table, and tapping upon it with his long bony fingers, he whispered a word or two that startled me. "Charlie--Charlie!" Then, as I glanced up at him, and saw his hungry eyes fixed upon me, he went on in tones little above a whisper, and with a curious mocking grin on his face: "Charlie!--how does it feel to kill a man?" I turned round slowly; I saw in a moment that he had read my secret. My fear was not that he might do anything to me; my only dread was that he might warn Murray Olivant, if indeed he had not already done so. "What do you mean?" I asked hoarsely.