ve, of course,
in a future state. It may be that the truth awaits us there. You can
work to that, can't you?"

"Of course," Macheson answered, "but don't you rather overlook the
support which doctrine gives to the weak and superstitious?"

"Bah! There are the strong to be considered," Holderness declared.
"Think how many men of average intelligence chuck the whole thing
because they can't stomach doctrine. Besides, these people all think, if
you want to confirm 'em or baptize 'em or anything of that sort, that
you've your own axe to grind. Jolly suspicious lot the East-Enders, I
can tell you."

"I'll go and see Henwood," Macheson declared.

Holderness glanced at his watch.

"We'll have something to eat and go together," he declared. "Look here,
I'm really pushed or I wouldn't bother you. Can you do me a country walk
in November for the paper? I have two a month. You can take the last
number and see the sort of thing."

"I'll try," Macheson promised. "You can give me a couple of days, I
suppose?"

"A week--only I want it off my mind. You can get out somewhere and rub
up your impressions. We'll dine for half a crown in Soho, and you shall
tell me about Paris."

Macheson groaned.

"Shut up about Paris," he begged. "The thought of it's like a nightmare
to me--a nightmare full of puppet gnomes, with human masks and the faces
of devils underneath."

"The masks came off?" Holderness asked.

Macheson shivered.

"They did," he answered.

"Do you good," Holderness declared coolly, locking his desk. "I've been
through it. So long as the masks came off it's all right. What was it
sent you there, Victor?"

"A piece of madness," Macheson answered in a low tone, "supreme, utter
madness."

"Cured?"

"Oh! I hope so," Macheson answered. "If not--well, I can fight."

Holderness stood still for a moment. There was a queer look in his eyes.

"There was a woman once, Victor," he said, "who nearly made mincemeat of
my life. She could have done it if she liked--and she wasn't the sort
who spares. She died--thank God! You see I know something about it."

They walked out arm in arm, and not a word passed between them till they
reached the street. Then Holderness called a hansom.

"I feel like steak," he declared. "Entre-cote with potatoes, maitre
d'hotel. Somehow I feel particularly like steak. We will chuck Soho and
dine at the Cafe Royal."

They talked mostly of Henwood and his work. Holderness spoke of it as
succ