“No, dear,” he replied. “I shall not desert my post. I must solve the riddle of this man’s life; and if, indeed, he is the thing he seems to be, I shall attempt to wrest from him what he has stolen from me. I speak of my unwritten novel.”

“Do not attempt to oppose him openly. You cannot resist him.”

“Be assured that I shall be on my guard. I have in the last few hours lived through so much that makes life worth living, that I would not wantonly expose myself to any danger. Still, I cannot go without certainty — cannot, if there is some truth in our fears, leave the best of me behind.”

“What are you planning to do?”

“My play — I am sure now that it is mine —