Wickersham’s face settled a little.  His eyes blinked as if a blow had been aimed at him nearly.  Then he recovered his poise.

“How mad?”

“As mad as a March hare.”

“You can attend to it,” he said, looking the clergyman full in the face.  “I don’t want her to suffer.  There will be some expense.  Can you get her into a comfortable place for—­for a thousand dollars?”

“I will try.  The poor creature would be better off,” said the other, persuading himself.  “She cannot last long.  She is a very ill woman.”

Wickersham either did not hear or pretended not to hear.

“You go ahead and do it.  I will send you the money the day after it is done,” he said.  “Money is very tight to-day, almost a panic at the board.”

“That stock?  You will not trouble me about it?”

Wickersham growled something about being very busy, and rose and bowed the visitor out.  The two men shook hands formally at the door of the inner office; but it was a malevolent look that Wickersham shot at the other’s stout back as he walked out.

As Mr. Rimmon came out of the office he caught sight of the short, stout man he had seen in the street to which he had gone with Mrs. Lancaster.  Suddenly the association of ideas brought to him Keith’s threat.  He was shadowed.  A perspiration broke out over him.

Wickersham went back to his private office, and began once more on his books.  What he saw there was what he began to see on all sides:  ruin.  He sat back in his chair and reflected.  His face, which had begun to grow thinner of late, as well as harder, settled more and more until it looked like gray stone.  Presently he rose, and locking his desk carefully, left his office.

As he reached the street, a man, who had evidently been waiting for him, walked up and spoke to him.  He was a tall, thin, shabby man, with a face and figure on which drink was written ineffaceably.  Wickersham, without looking at him, made an angry gesture and hastened his step.  The other, however, did the same, and at his shoulder began to whine.

“Mr. Wickersham, just a word.”

“Get out,” said Wickersham, still walking on.  “I told you never to speak to me again.”

“I have a paper that you’d give a million dollars to get hold of.”

Wickersham’s countenance showed not the least change.

“If you don’t keep away from here, I’ll hand you over to the police.”

“If you’ll just give me a dollar I’ll swear never to trouble you again.  I have not had a mouthful to eat to-day.  You won’t let me starve?”

“Yes, I will.  Starve and be ——­ to you!” He suddenly stopped and faced the other.  “Plume, I wouldn’t give you a cent if you were actually starving.  Do you see that policeman?  If you don’t leave me this minute, I’ll hand you over to him.  And if you ever speak to me again or write to me again, or if I find you on the street about here, I’ll arrest you and send you down for blackmail and stealing.  Now do you understand?”