"Her? What 'her'?"

"That's my business, Mr. Narkom, and I'll take no man into my confidence
regarding that."

"Yes, my friend, but 'Margot'--how about her?"

"I'm done with her! We broke last night, when I returned and she
learned--never mind what she learned! I'm done with her--done with the
lot of them. My life is changed forever."

"In the name of Heaven, man, who and what are you?"

"Cleek--just Cleek; let it go at that," he made reply. "Whether it's my
name or not is no man's business; who I am, what I am, whence I came, is
no man's business either. Cleek will do--Cleek of the Forty Faces. Never
mind the past; my fight is with the future, and so--examine me, Sir
Horace, and let me know if I or Fate's to blame for what I am."

Sir Horace did.

"Absolutely Fate," he said, when, after a long examination, the man put
the question to him again. "It is the criminal brain fully developed,
horribly pronounced. God help you, my poor fellow; but a man simply
could not be other than a thief and a criminal with an organ like that.
There's no hope for you to escape your natural bent except by death. You
can't be honest. You can't rise--you never will rise; it's useless to
fight against it!"

"I will fight against it! I will rise! I will! I will! I will!" he cried