At the involuntary exclamation which escaped the younger man Adam whirled as if to run.
John spoke, quietly, "That you, father?"
The man came quickly to his son. With an odd nervous laugh, he said, "Lord, boy, but you startled me! What are you doing out here at this time of the night?"
"Just enjoying a quiet smoke and looking at the stars," John answered, easily.
It was evident that Adam Ward was intensely excited. His voice shook with nervous agitation and he looked over his shoulder and peered into the surrounding darkness as if dreading some lurking danger.
"I couldn't sleep," he muttered, in a low cautious tone. "Dreams—nothing in them of course—all foolishness—nerves are all shot to pieces."
He dropped down on the seat beside his son, then sprang to his feet again. "Did you hear that?" he whispered, and stooping low, he tried to see into the shadows of the shrubbery behind John.
The younger man spoke soothingly. "There is nothing here, father, sit down and take it easy."
"You don't know what you're talking about," retorted Adam Ward. "I tell you they are after me—there's no telling what they will do—poison—a gun—infernal machines through the mail—bomb. No one has any sympathy with me, not even my family. All these years I have worked for what I have and now nobody cares. All they want is what they can get out of me. And you—you'll find out! I saw your car in front of Martin's again this evening. You'd better keep away from there. Peter Martin is dangerous. He would take everything I have away from me if he could."
John tried in vain to calm his father, but in a voice harsh with passion he continued, and as he spoke, he moved his hands and arms constantly with excited and vehement gestures.