Roberts stood up, propped his stick in a corner and walked the length of the room. His head was lowered; he was absorbed as if debating with himself. At last, he turned swiftly.
“You don’t want to die, do you?” he asked, staring.
“No.”
“Then watch out.”
“For what?”
“For that kind of impudence which incurs my displeasure.”
Martin leaned back against the head of the couch, put his chin on his hands and looked solemnly at his visitor.
“Have you lost your mind?” he asked.
Roberts’ mouth opened and shut as though he were in rarefied air. Then he sat down again and looked at his hand which was still shaking.
“Martin,” he whispered, “I’m frightened.”