should look after him."

Shorely found himself rapidly verging into a state of nervousness
regarding Gibberts. He was actually beginning to believe the novelist
meditated some wild action, which might involve others in a
disagreeable complication. Shorely had no desire to be accessory either
before or after the fact. He hurried back to the office, and there
found Gibberts' belated reply to his note. He hastily tore it open, and
the reading of it completely banished what little self-control he had
left.

"Dear Shorely,--I know why you want to see me, but I have so many
affairs to settle, that it is impossible for me to call upon you.
However, have no fears; I shall stand to my bargain, without any
goading from you. Only a few days have elapsed since the publication of
the story, and I did not promise the tragedy before the week was out. I
leave for Channor Chase this afternoon. You shall have your pound of
flesh, and more.--Yours,

"BROMLEY GIBBERTS."

Shorely was somewhat pale about the lips when he had finished this
scrawl. He flung on his coat, and rushed into the street. Calling a
hansom, he said--

"Drive to Kidner's Inn as quickly as you can. No. 15."

Once there, he sprang up the steps two at a time, and knocked at
Gibberts' door. The novelist allowed himself the luxury of a "man," and
it was the "man" who answered Shorely's imperious knock.