Rangar’s eyes glinted, but he made no rejoinder.

“He rather lost his temper with me,” said Mr. Foote, “when I accused him of a liaison with that girl. ...  He denied it, Rangar, or so I understood.  He was very young and—­tempestuous about it.  Are you sure you were right?”

“What else would he be going there for, Mr. Foote?”

“My idea exactly.”

“Unless, sir, he fancies he’s in love with the girl. ...  I once knew a young man in a position similar to Mr. Bonbright’s who fell in love with a girl who sold cigars in a hotel. ...  He fairly dogged her, sir.  Wanted to marry her.  You wouldn’t believe it, but that’s what he did, and his family had to buy her off and send her away or he’d have done it, too. ...  It might happen to any young man, Mr. Foote.”

“Not to a member of my family, Rangar.”

“I can’t agree with you, sir. ...  Nobody’s immune to it.  You can’t deny that Mr. Bonbright has been going to see her regularly.  Five or six times he’s been there, and stayed a long time every visit. ...  It was one thing or the other he went for, and you can’t deny that.  If he says it wasn’t what you accused him of, then it was the other.”

“You mean that my son—­a Foote—­could fall in love, as you call it, with the daughter of a boarding house and a companion of anarchists?”

“I hate to say it to you, sir, but there isn’t anything else to believe. ...  He’s young, Mr. Foote, and fiery.  She isn’t bad looking, either, and she’s clever.  A clever girl can do a lot with a boy, no matter who he is, if she sets her heart on him.  It wouldn’t be a bad match for a girl like her if she was to entice Mr. Bonbright into a marriage.”

“Impossible, Rangar. ...  However, you have an eye kept on him.  I want to be told every move he makes, where he goes, who he sees.  I want to know everything about him, Rangar.  Will you see to it?”

“Yes, sir,” said Rangar, a gleam of malice again visible in his eyes.

“What do you know about this girl?  Have you had her looked up?”

“Not fully, sir.  But I’ve heard she was heart and soul with what these anarchists believe.  Her father was one of them.  Killed by the police or soldiers or somebody. ...  The unions educated her.  That’s why Dulac went to live there—­to help them out. ...  And it’s been reported to me, Mr. Foote, that Dulac was sweet on her himself.  That came from a reliable source.”

“My son a rival of an anarchist for the favor of the daughter of a cheap boarding house!” exclaimed Mr. Foote.

“This Dulac was seen, Mr. Foote, with reference to the strike.  He’s a fanatic.  Nothing could be done with him.  He actually offered violence to our agent who attempted to show him how it would be to his benefit to—­to be less energetic.  We offered him—­”

“I don’t care to hear what we offered him.  Such details are distasteful, Rangar.  That’s what I hire you for, isn’t it?”