r loses anything... You
don't understand me, do you? ... Oh, well, it doesn't matter."

Brauer's frightened lips scarcely moved as he asked:

"Where are you staying?"

"Anywhere I can find a shelter... Last night I spent with an
anarchist... I think he'd blow up almost anyone for just the sheer joy
of it."

Brauer shuddered. "Where will you spend to-night?"

"I think I'll go back to the same place... This morning I was
undecided. But I've heard a lot of things since then... I'm taking an
interest in life again... By the way, the man I'm staying with knows
Hilmer... And I don't think he likes him, either... I'll give you one
tip, Brauer. Never get an anarchist sore at you... _They_ haven't
anything to lose, either."

He had never seen such pallor as that which shook the color from
Brauer's face. He decided not to torment him further.

He had established a sense of the unfathomable for the present and
future terror of his trembling little ex-partner. His revenge, so far
as Brauer was concerned, was complete. He had not the slightest wish
to see Brauer again.

He let his hands close once more tightly about Brauer's puny wrists.

"Remember ... you have not seen me. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Not a living soul ... you are not to even suggest that ... otherwise
... well, I am living with an anarchist, and a word to the wise ..."

He turned abruptly and left his companion standing on the street
corner, staring vacantly after him.

Instinctively his footsteps found their way to Storch's shack. A light
was glimmering inside. Fred beat upon the door. It swung open quickly,
revealing Storch's greenish teeth bared in a wide smile of
satisfaction.

"Come in ... come in!" Storch cried out gayly. "Have a good day?"

"Excellent!" Fred snapped back, venomously. "I learned, among other
things, that I am legally dead."

Storch rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. "A clean slate! Do
you realize how wonderful it is, my man, to start fresh?"

Fred threw himself into a chair. He felt tired. Sharp, darting pains
were stabbing his eyes. "I think I'm going to be ill!" he said, with
sudden irrelevance.

Storch lighted the oil stove. "Crawl into bed and I'll get you
something hot to drink!"

Storch's tone was kind to a point of softness, and yet, later, when he
bent over the couch with a steaming glass in his hand Fred experienced
a sharp revulsion.

"I dreamed all last night," Fred said, almost defiantly, "that