At last, in the corner of the newspaper, he found that heading, though under it there was nothing of any importance or interest.  But it was the heading itself that had a strange fascination for him.  He kept his eyes fixed on it.  Then he began to see detached phrases and sentences—­or, perhaps, it was only in his brain that he saw them:  “The Assassination of Count Zaccatelli!  The accused, an Englishman, who refuses to declare his name, admits that he had no personal enmity—­commanded to execute this horrible crime—­a punishment decreed by a society which he will not name—­confesses his guilt—­is anxious to be sentenced at once, and to die as soon as the law permits....  This morning the assassin of Cardinal Zaccatelli, who has declared his name to be Edward Bernard, was executed.”

He hurriedly folded up the paper, just as if he were afraid of some one overlooking and reading these words, and glanced around.  No one was regarding him.  The cafe was nearly full, and there was plenty of laughing and talking amidst the glare of the gas.  He slunk out of the place, leaving the coffee untasted.  But when he had got outside he straightened himself up, and his face assumed a firmer expression.  He walked quickly along to Clarges Street.  The Evelyns’ house was dark from top to bottom; apparently the family had retired for the night.  “Perhaps he is at the Century,” Brand said to himself, as he started off again.  But just as he got to the corner of the street a hansom drove up, and the driver taking the corner too quickly, sent the wheel on to the curb.

“Why don’t you look where you’re going to?” a voice called out from the inside of the cab.

“Is that you, Evelyn?” Brand cried.

“Yes, it is,” was the reply; and the hansom was stopped, and Lord Evelyn descended.  “I am happy to say that I can still answer for myself.  I thought we were in for a smash.”

“Can you spare me five minutes?”

“Five hours if you like.”

The man was paid; the two friends walked along the pavement together.

“I am glad to have found you after all, Evelyn,” Brand said.  “The fact is, my nerves have had a bad shake.”

“I never knew you had any.  I always fancied you could drive a fire-brigade engine full gallop along the Strand on a wet night, with the theatres coming out.”

“A few minutes’ talk with you will help me to pull myself together again.  Need we go into the house?”

“We sha’n’t wake anybody.”

They noiselessly went into the house, and passed along the hall until they reached a small room behind the dining-room.  The gas was lit, burning low.  There were biscuits, seltzer-water, and spirits on the table.

Lord Evelyn was in the act of turning the gas higher, when he happened to catch sight of his friend.  He uttered a quick exclamation.  Brand, who sat down in a chair, was crying, with his hands over his face, like a woman.