ldn't run was the one that got
caught. . . . And he had said that was life. . . . He had said it was
only nature.

And then they had stood among the trees and beneath the white moon and
pledged their faith. . . .

Again his head went up, and the old light flashed in his eyes. "The
first thing is to kill the wolf," he said aloud. "No other innocent
shall fall to his fangs. Then--my country."

Darkness had again fallen before Dave found his car threading the
streets of the city, still feverish with its new-born excitement of
war. He returned his car to the garage; an attendant looked up
curiously,--it was evident from his glance that Dave had already been
missed--but no words were exchanged. He stood for a moment in the
street collecting his thoughts and rehearsing his resolves. He was
amazed to find that, even in his bitterness, the city reached a
thousand hands to him--hands of habit, and association, and custom of
mind--all urging him back into the old groove; all saying, "The routine
is the thing; be a spoke in the wheel; go 'round with the rest of us."

"No," he reminded himself. "No, I can't do that. I have business on
hand. First--to kill the wolf."

He remembered that he had given his revolver to Irene. And suddenly
she sat with him again at the tea table. . . . Where was he? Yes, he
had given his revolver to Irene. Well, there was another in his rooms.
First to kill the wolf.

In the hallway of the block in which he had his bachelor apartments
Dave almost collided with a woman. He drew back, and the light fell on
his face, but hers was in the shadow. And then he heard her voice.
"Oh, Dave, I'm so glad--why, what has happened?" The last words ran
into a little treble of pain as she noted his haggard face; he had not
eaten for twenty-four hours, nor slept for thirty-six.

"You--Edith," he managed to say. "Whatever----"

She came toward him and placed her hands on his. "I've been here a
hundred times--ever since morning--ever since Bert Morrison called up
to say you had disappeared--that there was some mystery. There isn't,
is there, Dave? You're all right, Dave, aren't you, Dave?"

"I guess I'm all right," he managed to answer, "but I got a job on--an
important job on. I must get it done. There is not time----"

But her woman's intuition had gone far below his idle words. "There is
something wrong, Dave," she said. "You never looked like this before.
Tell me what it is. Tell m