“Good heavens!” Nick Carter broke out. “Do you actually mean to tell me that he has attacked you before?”  
“I do,” the deep voice replied. “He tried to shoot me from ambush a week or so before we left Brazil, and just prior to our arrival at Kingston he made another attempt. He was not nearly so successful that time, though. I managed to overpower him.”
 
They were pacing along the dark deck now, and Nick heard the man by his side draw a deep breath.
 
“Something has gone wrong with Jimmy Stone,” he said quietly. “You don’t know him as I do, Carter. Up to a short six months ago he was like a brother to me. Man, I tell you that Jim Stone is the only person in the world that I—I care two straws about. You know what it means to men who have lived and starved together.”
 
The rich voice stopped, and Nick caught something that was suspiciously like a suppressed sob. Involuntarily he paused, and Crawford halted for a moment, his shoulders shaking.
 
A strong man’s grief is a terrible thing to witness, and the detective felt himself tongue-tied.
 
“My friend—my old comrade!” Crawford went on huskily. “Trying to murder me! By Heaven, Carter, it almost breaks my heart!”
 
 
He swung around suddenly and caught Nick by the arm again.
 
“I want you to keep this thing a secret,” he said earnestly. “Jim isn’t accountable for this mood that has been on him for the last few months—he isn’t accountable for his actions. I had feared for some time that there was a little trouble with his brain, and my suspicions were confirmed before we left South America.”
 
He then went on to tell in detail of Stone’s attempt to shoot him, as revealed by the young physician; of the latter’s opinion of Stone’s sanity—or, rather, insanity—and finally of the promise Floyd had wrung from the misguided man.
 
He told the detective that Stone had reluctantly agreed to consult a famous specialist, but only because he had felt compelled to do so in order to stop Floyd’s mouth. Unfortunately, however, he had forgotten the specialist’s name and that of the hospital of which he was the head.
 
Had Nick learned those important facts, there might have been a different story to tell.
 
“You will help me shield him, won’t you, Carter?” Crawford begged. “I suppose I haven’t any right to ask it, but, after all, it’s my funeral and not yours. That’s what I told Floyd. He couldn’t rest until he had warned me, but it did not seem right for me to change my plans in any way. Jim is my oldest and best friend—my only close friend, in fact—and I couldn’t bear to cut adrift from him. Besides, I’ve been hoping all the time that he’d come out from under this cloud; that I’d find some way of reaching his heart and making it all right again. I have tried time after time, but always failed. He thinks I’m his enemy, and attributes to me all the evil suspicions that are bred in his poor diseased brain. It seems hopeless, unless he can get some help, but whatever happens I’m going to stick to him. There’s so little the matter with him, you see, and I know that the man himself is one of the finest. He would never dream of hurting any one if he were in his right mind, least of all me.”
 
“I have no doubt you are right about that,” the detective agreed, “and that you’re the only one who is in any danger from him; nevertheless, I can’t help thinking that your affection, highly commendable as it is, has caused you to take a very foolish risk. You say yourself that you haven’t been able to do him any good, and certainly he doesn’t take any pleasure in your society, to say the least. It was very unwise of you to have traveled all this distance with him, and to have occupied an adjoining stateroom. It has simply put temptation in his way. You don’t want to make him a murderer, do you, aside from the question of your own safety?”
 
“No, no! Heaven knows I don’t!”
 
“Then you ought by all means to keep out of his way,” Nick advised gravely. “You say that this Doctor Floyd extracted a promise from him that he would do nothing more against you until he had seen this specialist, but you admit that he has broken that promise not less than twice during the voyage. Plainly there’s no reliance to be placed in him, as there never is in the case of any one who is mentally affected even in the slightest degree.”
 
“I know,” admitted Crawford. “Jimmy doesn’t think he has broken his promise, though. He made a condition that he should do nothing unless I provoked it or he was obliged to act in self-defense. I’m sure he thinks he has adhered to that condition. Both times when he has pounced on me he snarled, ‘You would, would you?’ or something like that, as if I had made some move to attack him.”
 
“That’s just it,” commented the detective. “He’s obviously unbalanced, and imagines all sorts of things. Under the circumstances, therefore, you can do him no possible good, and may lose your life at any moment.”
 
The miner shook his head.
 
“I realize that what you say is all true,” he admitted, “but I’m afraid I’m a fatalist, Mr. Carter. I simply can’t turn my back on Jimmy. I feel that I must stick by him for the sake of old times, and, besides, it seems like cowardice to do anything else. I’ve never been a coward, and I don’t want to begin now. Anyway, I have engaged rooms for both of us at the Windermere, connecting rooms. I’d feel like a selfish sneak if I made any change. I don’t want Jimmy to have my blood on his head, or the blood of any one, and I hope and pray it won’t come to that; but the bonds between us are too strong to be broken by me. You see how it is, Mr. Carter, and that it’s hopeless to argue with me. Are you willing to let me go my way in this, and to promise me that you’ll not take any action whatever?”
 
The anxiety in his voice indicated how keenly Crawford felt the situation. On the one hand, the man’s amazing obstinacy made Nick very impatient, but on the other, he felt a strange admiration for Crawford’s unfaltering loyalty. He thrust out his hand in the darkness, and the palms of the two men met.
 
“All right, Crawford,” he said, and his voice was deep and vibrating. “I think you’re making a mistake, but it’s the kind of mistake one can’t help honoring you for. I look upon you as one of the bravest men I have ever met, and you may be sure that I will keep your secret.”
 
Crawford wrung the outstretched hand.
 
“I thank you with all my heart,” he said, “and I—I won’t forget that you saved my life. Some day I hope to be able to repay you. In any event, we’ll meet again in New York.”
 
But neither he nor Nick dreamed of the curious circumstances that were to draw them together again in the great city.