Dr. Cassin bowed. Elmer Boatwright bowed. Doane glanced up briefly, and took them in; then his gaze centered again on the matting.
“And they are here now?”
“Betty is staying with Madame Pourmont. Mr. Brachey is living in a tent.”
“Where? What tent?”
Elmer Boatwright did not wait to hear this question answered, or the rush of other palliative phrases that were pressing nervously on the tip of Dr Cas-sin's not unsympathetic tongue. Never had he heard the quiet menace in Griggsby Doane's voice that was in it as he almost calmly uttered those three words, “Where? What tent?” He could nut himself think clearly; his mind was a blur of fears and nervous impulses. Doane wasn't normal; that was plain. Dr. Cassin's bare announcement was a blow so severe that even as he framed that tense question he was struggling to control the blind wild forces that were ravaging that giant frame of his. Once wholly out of control, he might do anything. He might kill Brachey. Yes, easily that! It was in his eyes.... And so, without a plan, all confused impulses, Elmer Boatwright slipped out, closing the door behind him. On the outer sill of the little building he paused, trying desperately to think; but, failing in this effort, harried through the night to Brachey's tent.
He was, of course, far from understanding himself. It was a moment in which no small dogmatic mind, once touched by the illogic of merely human sympathy, could hope to understand itself. Though he and Brachey were barely speaking, he had watched the man during the capture of the Chinese gun and ammunition. And since that incident he had observed that Brachey was steadily winning the respect of all in the compound. The confusing thought was that a sinner could do that. For he believed, with his wife, and Miss Hemphill, that Brachey and Betty had sinned. Dr. Cassin had been more guarded in her judgment but probably she believed it, too. Sin, of course, to what may without unpleasant connotation be termed the professionally religious mind, is a definite, really a technical fact. In the faith of the Boatwrights it could be atoned only by an inner conviction followed by the blessing of the Holy Spirit. No mere good conduct, no merely admirable human qualities, could save the sinner. And neither Betty nor Brachey had shown the slightest sign of the regenerative process. In Mrs. Boatwright's judgment, therefore, since she was a woman of utter humorless logic, of unconquerable faith in conscience, the two stood condemned. But her husband, in this time of tragic stress, was discovering certain merely human qualities that were bound to prove disconcerting to his professed philosophy. He wanted, now, to help Brachey; and yet, as he ran through courtyard after courtyard, he couldn't wholly subdue certain strong misgivings as to what his wife might think if she knew.
3
Before the tent he hesitated. The flap was tied; he shook it, with a trembling hand. He heard, then, the steady breathing of the man within. He tried knocking on the pole, through the canvas, but without effect on the sleeper. Then, with a curious sensation of guilt, he reached in and untied the flap, above, then below; and passed cautiously in. The night was warm. Brachey lay uncovered, dressed, as Boatwright saw when he struck a match to make certain of his man, in all but coat, collar and shoes.
Boatwright blew out the match. For another moment he stood wondering at himself; then laid a hand on the sleeper's shoulder. Brachey started up instantly; swung his feet to the floor; said in a surprisingly alert, cautious voice:
“What is it?”