“Ah, thank you.  But I wasn’t going to the Reading-room to-night.  I am on my way to the village.”

“Well, there’s a large majority of people do go to the Reading-room, first and last,” the youth explained with pride.  “And some of them are not worthy of its privileges.  I am on my way now to prevent what may be a frightful accident to one who has enjoyed the benefits of our work.”

Jim gazed at the youth.  “A frightful accident!  Then why in Heaven’s name don’t you hurry?”

The youth exhibited a slightly injured air, but did not hasten.

“I was just about to continue on my way,” he said, “when it occurred to me that you might be interested to know.”

“That’s good of you.  But what is it all about?”

“Some time ago, a very profane and impatient gentleman, waiting for money to be telegraphed to him from New York—­”

“Well, man, go on!  Where is he?”

“I know nothing about the movements of this ungodly person, but it appears that to-day, for the first time in its history, the quarry up yonder has been robbed.  Circumstances lead the manager to suspect that this same gentleman was the perpetrator of the theft, and I am on my way to further the ends of justice.”

“No need to be so particular about calling him a gentleman.  But what is the ‘accident’ likely to be?”

“It is feared that the thief may not be aware of the nature of the article he has stolen, and it is very dangerous.”

“What on earth is it?”

“It is a fairly large-sized stick of dynamite.”

The youth might have been discussing a fancy dance, so suave and polite was he.  Jim interrupted rudely.

“Dynamite, is it?  Good.  If it’s old Chatelard, he ought to blow up.  Serve him right.”

“I’m surprised and pained at your words, my dear friend.  No soul is utterly—­”

“Yes, it is.  Which way did he go?  Where is he?”

“I don’t know.  The manager sent me to inform the sheriff.”

“It won’t do any good.  But you’d better go, all the same.”

The judge in chancery went on his dignified way.  He would not have hurried if he had heard Angel Gabriel’s trump.  The news he had brought was in the class to be considered important if true, but there was nothing in it to alter Jimmy’s plans.  He took the shortest cut to the shore, found a fiat-bottomed punt that was regarded by the village as general property, and pushed off.

The Sea Gull was a tidy craft, and looked very gay with even the half of her festival flags on view.  But the gaiety did not beguile Jim’s dampened spirits.  He went aboard feeling that he’d like to rip the idiotic things down; but the yacht, at least, offered a place where he could think.  The sunset light on the water blazed vermilion—­just the color that Jim all at once discovered he hated.  He looked down the companionway, but finally he decided to stretch out on deck for a few minutes’ rest.  He was very tired.