"Well, Mr. Bawdsey, if that is your name," said George, good-humoredly, "it is a good thing I have saved your life. But you seem as though you could--"
"I can--I can," interrupted Bawdsey, anticipating the remark. "But have you ever heard of that disease--fear of open spaces?"
"No," replied Brendon, "what is it?"
"I shan't give you the medical name," said Bawdsey, "as you would not understand. But it is a dread to cross any open space. At times it takes me unexpectedly, and I get a sort of paralysis of the will and cannot move. That was why I stopped in the middle of the road. I should have been killed but for you."
"Perhaps I had better see you home, then," said Brendon.
"No. I shall take a cab. It is only now and then that the thing takes me. It can't be cured and maybe it will get worse. At present it does not prevent me attending to my work. Come home with me and I'll tell you more. I live in No. 43 Amelia Square."
"What, in that house?" cried George, for this was the number of the Jersey mansion.
"Yes. What do you know of it?"
"Nothing."
"Oh, yes, you do; but you won't trust me. However, I'll see you again, and I'll trust you. Take care of Lola Velez. She means you harm."