"Who should know better than I?" he said. "Haven't I broken
through all the traps and plots that she could set?"

"She? She trap you?" The man's voice was full of horror.

"The old schemer," muttered Mason. "The cowardly old schemer, to
strike in the back; but we can beat her. She did not count on my
helping you--I, who know her so well."

Mason's face was red, and his eyes burned. In the midst of it all
he dropped his hands and went over to the fire. Samuel Walcott
arose, panting, and stood looking at Mason, with his hands behind
him on the table. The naturally strong nature and the rigid school
in which the man had been trained presently began to tell. His
composure in part returned and he thought rapidly. What did this
strange man know? Was he simply making shrewd guesses, or had he
some mysterious knowledge of this matter? Walcott could not know
that Mason meant only Fate, that he believed her to be his great
enemy. Walcott had never before doubted his own ability to meet
any emergency. This mighty jerk had carried him off his feet. He
was unstrung and panic-stricken. At any rate this man had promised
help. He would take it. He put the paper and envelope carefully
into his pocket, smoothed out his rumpled coat, and going over to
Mason touched him on the shoulder.

"Come," he said, "if you are to help me we must go."

The man turned and followed him without a word. In the hall Mason
put on his hat and overcoat, and the two went out into the street.