Morland stopped upon the unpleasant word, then shrugged his shoulders. “Yes, I suppose I am afraid of him. One can't reckon upon anything that he might or might not do. He's like a mad cat. I've seen him. So have you.” “I?” “Yes--that socialist maniac you dragged me to hear one Sunday in Hyde Park.” “Whew!” said Jimmie. He remembered the look in the orator's eyes, his crazy, meaningless words, his fierce refusal to enter into friendly talk; also Morland's impatient exclamation and abrupt departure as soon as they had learned the man's name. “He's as mad as a hatter,” he said. “If he should take it into his head to come down here and make a row, there will be the deuce to pay,” said Morland. Jimmie reflected for a moment. The man, with his wild talk of maidens lashed to the chariot-wheels of the rich, must have been tortured by the sense of some personal wrong. “How does he come into the story?” he asked. “You had better tell me.” “The usual way. Oh, I wish to God I had never got into this mess! A man of position is an infernal fool to go rotting about after that sort of thing. Oh, don't you see? He had a crazy passion for her, was engaged to her--he was mad then. When I came along, he had to drop it, and he has been persecuting her ever since--divided between the desire to marry her in spite of everything, and to murder me. That's why I had the assumed name and false address. I would n't have let you in for this bother, but I could n't go and run the risk of being blackmailed at a confounded little stationer's shop up a back street. He has been trying to get on my track all the time--and now he's succeeded, thanks to Aline. Why the devil could n't she hold her tongue?” “Because she is an innocent child, who has never dreamed of evil,” said Jimmie. Morland walked about the room, agitated, for a few moments, then halted. “Oh, yes, I know, Jimmie. She is n't to blame. Besides, the mischief is done, so it's no use talking.” “Were you thinking of any such possibility in the summer when you asked me to help you?” said Jimmie. Morland cast a quick, hopeful glance at his friend. “Something of the sort. One never knows. You were the only man I could rely on.” “Does this man know you by sight?” “Not to my knowledge.” “Then what are you so afraid of? Look here, my dear old boy,” he said cheerily, “you are being frighted by false fire. If it is only a question of dealing with the man when he comes here--that is, supposing he does come--which is very unlikely, I will tackle him as the only person who knows anything about David Rendell. I'll tell him David Rendell is in Scotland or Honolulu.” “He is on the track of the false name,” said Morland, uneasily. “Aline mentions that.” “He is bound to come to me first,” said Jimmie. “I'll fix him. We'll get on capitally together. There's a freemasonry between lunatics. Leave it all to me.” “Really?” cried Morland, in great eagerness. “Of course,” said Jimmie. “Let us go upstairs.”