The man was so much in earnest, his passion was so quietly intense, that Wolfenden against his will was more than half convinced. He was silent. He suddenly felt cold, and the buoyant elation of mind in which he had started homewards vanished, leaving him anxious and heavy, perhaps just a little afraid.
“I did what any man would do for any one else,” he said, almost apologetically. “It was instinctive. As a matter of fact, that particular man is a perfect stranger to me. I have never seen him before and it is quite possible that I shall never see him again.”
Felix turned quickly towards him.
“If you believe in prayer,” he said, “go down on your knees where you are and pray as you have never prayed for anything before that you may not see him again. There has never been a man or a woman yet who has not been the worse for knowing him. He is like the pestilence that walketh in the darkness, poisoning every one that is in the way of his horrible infection.”
Wolfenden pulled himself together. There was no doubt about his companion’s earnestness, but it was the earnestness of an unbalanced mind. Language so exaggerated as his was out of keeping with the times and the place.
“Tell me some more about him,” he suggested. “Who is he?”
“I won’t tell you,” Felix answered, obstinately.
“Well, then, who is the lady?”
“I don’t know. It is quite enough for me to know that she is his companion for the moment.”
“You do not intend to be communicative, I can see,” said Wolfenden, after a brief pause, “but I wish I could persuade you to tell me why you attempted his life to-night.”