erry's possibly having
been summoned to town. The "good-nights" were said with an excess of
cheerfulness on Una's part and my own which did nothing to conceal
from either of us the real nature of our anxiety.

Jack and I smoked in the library, discussing every phase of the
situation. The coming of night without a word or a sign from the boy
had made us both a prey to the liveliest fears. Something had happened
to Jerry--What? He had been wild, determined. I could not forget his
look. It was the same expression I had seen at Madison Square Garden
when he had made his insensate effort to knock Clancy out--a narrow
glitter of the eyes, brute-keen and directed by a mind made crafty by
desperation. Weary of surmises, at last we relapsed into silence,
trying to read. Jack at last dozed over his book and, unable longer to
remain seated, I got up, went outside and walked around the house
again and again. The garage tempted me. Jerry's machine was inside.
Unknown to Jack I would go myself to Briar Hills and see Miss Gore.
She would know.

There was a light in the window. I turned the knob and entered. As I
did so someone stooping rose and faced me. It was Jerry, a terrible
figure, his clothes torn and covered with dirt, his hair matted and
hanging over his eyes, which gleamed somberly out of dark circles. He
had a wrench in his hand. For a moment in my timidity and uncertainty
I thought him mad and about to strike me with it. But he made no move
toward me and only hung his head like a whipped dog.

"_You_, Roger?"

"What has happened. Jerry?"

"Nothing. Don't ask."

"But Jack and I have been sitting up for you. We've been worried."

"I know. But it couldn't be helped. Just don't ask me anything,
Roger."

I was glad enough to have him safe and apparently quite sane. I don't
know why I should have considered his sanity at that moment of
peculiar importance unless because my own mind had been all the
afternoon and evening so colored with the impression of his last
appearance. I had become so used to the sense of strain, of tension in
his condition of mind, that the quiet, rather submissive tone of his
voice affected me strangely. It seemed almost as if the disease was
passing, that his fever was abated.

"I won't ask you anything, if you don't like, but I think you'd better
come to the house and get a hot bath and to bed."

He remained silent for a long moment.

"I'm not going to the house, Roger. I'm going--"

He