"Evidently she didn't get your letter."

"Why do you think so?"

"If she had got it, she would have known that you were no longer at
1010 Fifth Avenue. Her father, no doubt, kept it from her."

He flushed still more deeply, and started to say something, but I held
him silent.

"He was justified in keeping it," I said. "You had promised not to
write to her. And I don't see that you have given me any reason why I
should assist you against him."

"I haven't," Swain admitted more calmly, "and under ordinary
circumstances, my self-respect would compel me to keep away. I am not
a fortune-hunter. But I can't keep away; I can't stand on my dignity.
When she calls for aid, I _must_ go to her, not for my own sake but
for hers, because she needs to be protected from her father far more
than from me."

"What do you mean by that?" I demanded.

"Mr. Lester," he said, leaning forward in his chair and speaking in a
lowered voice and with great earnestness, "her father is mad--I am
sure of it. No one but a madman would live and dress as he does; no
one but a madman would devote his whole time to the study of the
supernatural; no one but a madman would believe in the supernatural as
he does."