“And possibly I shall learn something from you,” the Wanderer answered.  “There is certainly much to be learnt.  I wonder whether your ideas upon all subjects are as simple as those you hold about oranges.”

“Absolutely.  I make no secret of my principles.  Everything I do is for my own advantage.”

“Then,” observed the Wanderer, “the advantage of Unorna’s life must be an enormous one to you, to judge by your satisfaction at her safety.”

Keyork stared at him a moment and then laughed, but less heartily and loudly than usual his companion fancied.

“Very good!” he exclaimed.  “Excellent!  I fell into the trap like a rat into a basin of water.  You are indeed an interesting companion, my dear friend—­so interesting that I hope we shall never part again.”  There was a rather savage intonation in the last words.

They looked at each other intently, neither wincing nor lowering his gaze.  The Wanderer saw that he had touched upon Keyork’s greatest and most important secret, and Keyork fancied that his companion knew more than he actually did.  But nothing further was said, for Keyork was far too wise to enter into explanation, and the Wanderer knew well enough that if he was to learn anything it must be by observation and not by questioning.  Keyork filled both glasses in silence and both men drank before speaking again.

“And now that we have refreshed ourselves,” he said, returning naturally to his former manner, “we will go and find Israel Kafka.  It is as well that we should have given him a little time to himself.  He may have returned to his senses without any trouble on our part.  Shall we take the Individual?”

“As you please,” the Wanderer answered indifferently as he rose from his place.

“It is very well for you not to care,” observed Keyork.  “You are big and strong and young, whereas I am a little man and very old at that.  I shall take him for my own protection.  I confess that I value my life very highly.  It is a part of that simplicity which you despise.  That devil of a Jew is armed, you say?”

“I saw something like a knife in his hand, as we shut him in,” said the Wanderer with the same indifference as before.

“Then I will take the Individual,” Keyork answered promptly.  “A man’s bare hands must be strong and clever to take a man’s life in a scuffle, and few men can use a pistol to any purpose.  But a knife is a weapon of precision.  I will take the Individual, decidedly.”

He made a few rapid signs, and the Individual disappeared, coming back a moment later attired in a long coat not unlike his master’s except that the fur of the great collar was of common fox instead of being of sable.  Keyork drew his peaked cape comfortably down over the tips of his ears.

“The ether!” he exclaimed.  “How forgetful I am growing!  Your charming conversation had almost made me forget the object of our visit!”