“For God's sake, get him away,” he said in a low voice. Jimmie nodded and touched the man's arm. “Come,” said he. “Yes, please take him off! What the dickens does he want?” said Mr. Hardacre. Stone turned his burning eyes upon him. “I have come to find an infamous seducer,” he replied, with a melodramatic intensity that would have been ludicrous had his face not been so ghastly. “His name is Rendell.” There was a shiver of interest in the crowd. “_Was sagt er?_” the princess whispered to her neighbour. Jimmie again tried to lead Stone away, but the distraught creature seemed lost in thought and looked at him fixedly. “I have seen you before,” he said at last. “Of course you have,” said Jimmie. “In Hyde Park. Don't you remember?” Suddenly, with a wrench of his hands he tore an unmounted photograph from the folded newspaper and threw it on the ground. His eyes blazed. “I thought I should find him. One of you is David Rendell. It is not your real name. That I know. Which of you is it?” Jimmie had sprung upon the photograph. Instinct rather than the evidence of sight told him that it was an amateur portrait of himself and Morland taken one idle afternoon in the studio by young Tony Merewether. It had hardly lain the fraction of a second on the ground but to Jimmie it seemed as if the two figures had flashed clear upon the sight of all the bystanders. He glanced quickly at Morland, who stood quite still now with stony face and averted eyes. He too had recognised the photograph, and he cursed himself for a fool for having given it to the girl. He had had it loose in his pocket; she had pleaded for it; she had no likeness of him at all. He was paying now for his imprudent folly. Like Jimmie, he feared lest others should have recognised the photograph. But he trusted again to chance. Jimmie had undertaken the unpleasant business and his wit would possibly save the situation. Jimmie did not hesitate. A man is as God made him, heart and brain. To his impulsive imagination the photograph would be proof positive for the world that one of the two was the infamous seducer. It did not occur to him to brazen the man out, to send him about his business; wherein lies the pathos of simple-mindedness. The decisive moment had come. To Morland exposure would mean loss of career, and, as he conceived it, loss of Norma; and to the beloved woman it would mean misery and heartbreak. So he committed an heroic folly. “Well, I _am_ Rendell,” he said in a loud voice. “What then?” Heedless of shocked whisperings and confused voices, among which rose a virtuously indignant “Great heavens!” from Mrs. Hardacre, he moved away quickly towards the slope, motioning Stone to follow. But Stone remained where he stood, and pointed at Jimmie with lean, outstretched finger, and lifted up his voice in crazy rhetoric, which was heard above the “Wedding March.” No one tried to stop him. It was too odd, too interesting, too dramatic.