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“As I said a few moments ago, I was surprised at a young fellow like Campe indulging in a recreation like being afraid; for in him we have a wide-awake chap, graduate of one of the big colleges, holder of a middle distance record and known for his pluck. And for such a one to lock himself up in a big country house and go to shaking at every sound he hears is not quite pleasant.”

“Fear, when properly planted, sinks deep and lasts long,” said Ashton-Kirk. “I’ve seen strong men quite like rabbits, in the grip of something they didn’t understand.”

“I got acquainted with young Campe a couple of years ago when he sprung a tendon and they thought a big race was lost for his college. They sent for me as old Doc. Emergency and I tinkered him up enough to go the distance. After that he got friendly. When he graduated, every one expected he’d go back to Mexico. But he didn’t. He went into a German importing house here—a kind of partner, I think.

“I’d always taken him for a casual kind of chap; he never seemed to take things very seriously, and had a very frequent laugh. But about a year ago I noticed a change. He didn’t talk so much; if he laughed at all it didn’t have the old-time colour; and he got to sitting staring at the ground. When I’d talk, he’d listen for a while; then he’d sort of drift away. I could tell by his expression that he wasn’t getting a thing I was saying. Finally he took to walking the floor, biting his nails and whispering to himself.”