Suddenly Orde leaned forward, his senses at the keenest attention. After a moment he arose and quietly walked toward the open window. Just as he reached the casement and looked out, a man looked in. The two stared at each other not two feet apart.
“Good Lord! Heinzman!” cried Orde in a guarded voice. He stepped decisively through the window, seized the German by the arm, and drew him one side.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
Heinzman was trembling violently as though from a chill.
“Dake me somewheres,” he whispered hoarsely. “Somewheres quick. I haf broke quarantine, and dey vill be after me.”
“The place for you is at your own house,” said Orde, his anger rising. “What do you mean by coming here and exposing my house to infection?”
Heinzman began to blubber; choked, shivered all over, and cried aloud with an expression of the greatest agony:
“You must dake me somewheres. I must talk with you and your goot wife. I haf somedings to say to you.” He in his turn grasped Orde by the arm. “I haf broke quarantine to gome and tell you. Dey are dere mit shotguns to kill me if I broke quarantine. And I haf left my daughter, my daughter Mina, all alone mit dose people to come and tell you. And now you don't listen.”
He wrung his hands dramatically, his soft pudgy body shaking.
“Come with me,” said Orde briefly.