"Ah. You have still some human weakness to get rid of before you can progress on the path along which you ask me to lead you. I have no use for weaklings, Enistor. Remember that."
The host drew himself up haughtily. "I am no weakling!"
"For your own sake, to-morrow, I hope you are not."
"Why to-morrow?"
"Because a blow will fall on you."
Enistor looked uneasy. "A blow! What kind of a blow?"
"Something to do with a loss of expected money. That is all I can tell you, my friend. You keep certain things from me, so if you are not entirely frank, how can you expect me to aid you?"
Enistor dropped into his chair again, and the perspiration beaded his dark face. "A loss of expected money," he muttered, "and Lucy is ill."
"Who is Lucy?"