I hazarded a bold shot.
"Simply because the man is mad," I said.
His bright eyes narrowed to glittering slits.
"You quote gossip of the newspapers," he replied.
"Do I? I happen to know more than the newspapers do."
He rose to his feet, took two steps towards me, and looked down with a twitching face.
"Who are you?" he said, and his whole frail frame trembled.
I caught him firmly by the arm and stared into his face—God knows what my own was like.
"I am the one who has been waiting, the one who is waiting, to help—the one who has come to save," I said, and my voice was not my own—it was as if the words were put into my mouth by an outside power.
He wrenched his arm away, gave a little cry, strode to the mantelpiece and bent his head upon his arms. His whole body was shaken with convulsive sobs.