. His father had brought him from Paris when he
was only a child, and married again almost at once. According to his
story, Ruth's mother lived with you for two years--until, in fact,
you went to Chili to take command of the troops there, at the time
of the revolution. When you returned, she was dead. You were told
that she had given birth to a daughter and that she, too, had died."

"That is true," Sabatini admitted slowly. "I came back because of
her illness, but I was too late."

"The child did not die," Arnold continued. "She was brought up by
Isaac in a small convent near Rouen, where she remained until two
years ago, when he was forced to come to England. He brought her
with him as, owing to her accident, she was unable to take the post
of teacher for which she had been intended, and the convent where
she was living was unexpectedly broken up. Since then she has lived
a sad life with him in London. His has been simply a hand-to-mouth
existence."

"But I do not understand why I was kept in ignorance," Sabatini
declared. "Why did he not appeal to me for help? Why was my
daughter's existence kept a secret from me?"

"Because Isaac is half a fanatic and half a madman," Arnold replied.
"You represent to him the class he loathes, the class he has hated
all his life, and against which he has waged ceaseless war. He hated
your marriage to his sister, and his feelings were the more
embittered because it suited you to keep it private. He has nursed a
bitter feeling against you all his life for this reason."

Sabatini turned stiffly away. He walked to the window, standing for
a moment or two with his back to Arnold, looking out into the quiet
street. Then he came back.

"I must go to this man at once," he said. "You can take me there?"

"I can take you," Arnold assented, doubtfully, "and I have even a
message from him asking you to visit him, but I warn you that he is
in a dangerous mood. I found him the solitary occupant of a
miserable room in the back street of a quarter of London which
reminded me more than anything else of some foreign city. He has
cleared the furniture from the room, reared a table up on end, and
is crouching behind it with a Mauser pistol in his hand and a box of
cartridges by his side. My own belief is that he is insane."

"It is of no account, that," Sabatini declared. "One moment."

He touched the bell for his servant, who entered almost immediately.

"You will take a cab to 17, Grosveno