Burns came out soon after, followed by a woman well shrouded in a heavy veil.

King jumped out of the car.  “I’m awfully sorry,” he tried to say in Burns’s ear.  “Just leave me and I’ll walk back.”

“Ride on the running board,” was the answer, in a tone which King knew meant that he was requested not to argue about it.

Therefore when the woman—­to whom he was not introduced—­was seated, he took his place at her feet.  To his surprise they did not move off in the direction from which they had come, but went on over the hills for five miles farther, driving in absolute silence, at high speed, and arriving at a small station as a train was heard to whistle far off somewhere in the darkness.

Burns dashed into the station, bought a ticket, and had his passenger aboard the train before it had fairly come to a standstill at the platform.  King heard him say no word of farewell beyond the statement that a trunk would be forwarded in the morning.  Then the whole strange event was over; the train was only a rumble in the distance, and King was in his place again beside the man he did not know.

* * * * *

Silence again, and darkness, with only the stars for light, and the roadside rushing past as the car flew.  Then suddenly, beside the deep woods, a stop, and Burns getting out of the car, with the first voluntary words he had spoken to King that night.

“Sit here, will you?  I’ll be back—­sometime.”

“Of course.  Don’t hurry.”

It was an hour that King sat alone, wondering.  Where Burns had gone, he had no notion, and no sound came back to give him hint.  As far as King knew there was no habitation back there in the depths into which his companion had plunged; he could not guess what errand took him there.

At last came a distant crashing as of one making his way through heavy undergrowth, and the noise drew nearer until at length Burns burst through into the road, wide of the place where he had gone in.  Then he was at the car and speaking to King, and his voice was very nearly his own again.

“Missed my trail coming back,” he said.  “I’ve kept you a blamed long time, haven’t I?”

“Not a bit.  Glad to wait.”

“Of course that’s a nice, kind lie at this time of night, and when you’ve no idea what you’ve been waiting for.  Well, I’ll tell you, and then maybe you’ll be glad you assisted at the job.”

He got in and drove off, not now at a furious pace, but at an ordinary rate of speed which made speech possible.  And after a little he spoke again.  “Jord,” he said, “you don’t know it, but I can be a fiend incarnate.”

“I don’t believe it,” refused King stoutly.

“It’s absolutely true.  When I get into a red rage I could twist a neck more easily than I can get a grip on myself.  Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll do it.  Years back when I had a rush of blood to the head of that sort I used to take it out in swearing till the atmosphere was blue; but I can’t do that any more.”