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 “Maybe he can this time. Will you go fetch him?”

“All right,” said I, “but I’ve a suspicion that you’re not strictly sober, Jesse. You seem to be wavering and losing your outlines. Don’t vanish before I get back.”

I went back to Kerner and said:

“There’s a man with an invisible homicidal mania waiting to see you outside. I believe he wants to murder you. Come along. You won’t see him, so there’s nothing to be frightened about.”

Kerner looked anxious.

“Why,” said he, “I had no idea one absinthe would do that. You’d better stick to Würzburger. I’ll walk home with you.”

I led him to Jesse Holmes’s.

“Rudolf,” said the Fool-Killer, “I’ll give in. Bring her up to the house. Give me your hand, boy.”

“Good for you, dad,” said Kerner, shaking hands with the old man. “You’ll never regret it after you know her.”

“So, you did see him when he was talking to you at the table?” I asked Kerner.

“We hadn’t spoken to each other in a year,” said Kerner. “It’s all right now.”

I walked away.

“Where are you going?” called Kerner.

“I am going to look for Jesse Holmes,” I answered, with dignity and reserve.