“I ran into the hotel and asked the clerk about the lazaretto patient. He was a young European—an Englishman—they thought, who had arrived from the East two days ago, and whose condition had just been discovered.
“Coming out, I went to the tramp who had cried out at the sight of the ill man. I found him seated on the curbstone, weeping like a child. I asked him why he wished to see the smallpox victim, and said that I could get him admission to the lazaretto, if he would tell me what he knew, and wouldn't let any other reporter have the story.
“He jumped up eagerly.
“'It's this,' he said. 'That man ran away with my wife, and I've hunted them over sea and land. This is the first sight I've had of him.'
“'Then,' I said, 'if you mean to harm him, I'm afraid I can't bring you to him.'
“'Him!' said the ragged man, disdainfully. 'I don't want to hurt him. I only want to find out where she is. I swear I wouldn't harm either of them.'
“I accompanied him to the city physician, with whom he had a long talk. That official finally promised to take him to the lazaretto. The doctor led the man to the side of the iron bed where the smallpox patient lay. The latter started like a frightened child at sight of his pursuer.
“'Remember,' said the doctor to the sick man, 'you have scarcely a chance for life. You would do well to tell the truth.'
“'Only tell me where she is,' pleaded the husband, 'and I'll forgive you all.'
“The sick man gasped: