And Lucio's face presented the same relentless expression of scorn I had so often seen and marvelled at. We paused a moment, watching the Viscount strolling aimlessly up and down in front of the clubs,--till all at once he seemed to come to a sudden resolution, and stopping short, he shouted, "Hansom!" A silent-wheeled smart vehicle came bowling up immediately. Giving some order to the driver, he jumped in. The cab approached swiftly in our direction,--just as it passed us the loud report of a pistol crashed on the silence. "Good God!" I cried reeling back a step or two--"He has shot himself!" The hansom stopped,--the driver sprang down,--club-porters, waiters, policemen and no end of people starting up from Heaven knows where, were on the scene on an instant,--I rushed forward to join the rapidly gathering throng, but before I could do so, Lucio's strong arm was thrown round me, and he dragged me by main force away. "Keep cool, Geoffrey!" he said--"Do you want to be called up to identify? And betray the club and all its members? Not while I am here to prevent you! Check your mad impulses, my good fellow,--they will lead you into no end of difficulties. If the man's dead he's dead, and there's an end of it." "Lucio! You have no heart!" I exclaimed, struggling violently to escape from his hold--"How can you stop to reason in such a case! Think of it! _I_ am the cause of all the mischief!--it is my cursed luck at baccarat this evening that has been the final blow to the wretched young fellow's fortunes,--I am convinced of it!--I shall never forgive myself--" "Upon my word, Geoffrey, your conscience is very tender!" he answered, holding my arm still more closely and hurrying me away despite myself--"You must try and toughen it a little if you want to be successful in life. Your 'cursed luck' you think, has caused Lynton's death? Surely it is a contradiction in terms to call luck 'cursed,'--and as for the Viscount, he did not need that last game at baccarat to emphasise his ruin. You are not to blame. And for the sake of the club, if for nothing else, I do not intend either you or myself to be mixed up in a case of suicide. The coroner's verdict always disposes of these incidents comfortably in two words--'Temporary insanity.'" I shuddered. My soul sickened as I thought that within a few yards of us was the bleeding corpse of the man I had so lately seen alive and spoken with,--and notwithstanding Lucio's words I felt as if I had murdered him. "'Temporary insanity'"--repeated Lucio again, as if speaking to himself--"all remorse, despair, outraged honour, wasted love, together with the scientific modern theory of Reasonable Nothingness--Life a Nothing, God a Nothing,--when these drive the distracted human unit to make of himself also a nothing, 'temporary insanity' covers up his plunge into the infinite with an untruthful pleasantness. However, after all, it is as Shakespeare says, a mad world!"