in that calm, powerful, self-possessed face, nor in the steady gaze of
those keen dark eyes, could I detect the least sign of incipient insanity
or a boastful spirit.

"You are quite mistaken," he said, with one of his enigmatic smiles. "I am
not mad; and I have lived too long either to cherish illusions or conjure
up imaginary dangers."

"I--I beg your pardon, Mr. Fortescue--I had no intention," I stammered,
quite taken aback by the accuracy with which he had read, or guessed, my
thoughts--"I had no intention to cast a doubt on what you said. But who
are these people that seek your life? and why don't you inform the
police?"

"The police! How could the police help me?" exclaimed Mr. Fortescue, with
a gesture of disdain, "Besides, life would not be worth having at the
price of being always under police protection, like an evicting Irish
landlord. But let us change the subject; we have talked quite enough about
myself. I want to talk about you."

A very few minutes sufficed to put Mr. Fortescue in possession of all the
information he desired. He already knew something about me, and as I had
nothing to conceal, I answered all his questions without reserve.

"Don't you think you are rather wasting your life?" he asked, after I had
answered the last of them.

"I am enjoying it."

"Very likely. People generally do enjoy life when they are young. Hunting