“I guess from the way he addressed me—­as Mr. Marks.”

Glazzard was deadly pale, but he smiled persistently, and with an expression of relief.

“You—­you—­betrayed us to him?”

“I did.”

Each could hear the other’s breathing.

“Why did you do that?” asked Denzil, the excess of his astonishment declaring itself in a tone which would have suited some every-day inquiry.  He could not speak otherwise.

“I can’t tell you why I did it.  I’m not sure that I quite understand now.  I did it, and there’s no more to be said.”

Denzil turned away, and stood with his eyes fixed on the ground.  A minute passed, and Glazzard’s voice again sounded close to him.

“Quarrier, you can’t forgive me, and I don’t wish you to.  But may I hope that you won’t let my wife know of it?”

“You are safe from me,” answered Denzil, barely glancing at him, and at once walked away.

He returned to the vestibule, descended the stairs, went out into the court.  There, aside from vehicles and people, he let his thoughts have their way.  Presently they summed themselves in a sentence which involuntarily he spoke aloud: 

“Now I understand the necessity for social law!”

THE END