"My time, then, except for lunching and dining and sleeping, will be my own?" he inquired seriously.
"Exactly."
"You wish me to register at the St. Albans under my own name?"
"That's a matter for you to decide. It's quite immaterial to me."
"I suppose it would be a waste of time to inquire why you are willing to pay such a sum for anything so very simple," Lawrence remarked tentatively.
"Quite so!" the stranger returned emphatically. "That is altogether my affair. Well, what do you say?"
Barry kept his face serious with difficulty. "Say?" he repeated. "Why, I accept, of course. I'd be a fool not to."
The unknown arose briskly.
"Good!" he said. "Suppose we take a stroll outside. This place is getting close."
Without question, Lawrence followed him out into the great vaulted space. What was the fellow going to do? How was he going to escape carrying out his side of the bargain with any plausibility or grace? Of course, he would get out of it somehow, for he was mad—mad as a March hare.