"Well? What
have you done?"
"I met the Wanderer in the street. What could I do? I told him that
Israel Kafka was a little mad, and that his harmless delusions referred
to a journey he was supposed to have made with me, and to an equally
imaginary passion which he fancies he feels for you."
"That was wise," said Unorna, still pale. "How came we to be so
imprudent! One word, and he might have suspected--"
"He could not have suspected all," answered Keyork. "No man could
suspect that."
"Nevertheless, I suppose what we have done is not exactly--justifiable."
"Hardly. It is true that criminal law has not yet adjusted itself to
meet questions of suggestion and psychic influence, but it draws
the line, most certainly, somewhere between these questions and the
extremity to which we have gone. Happily the law is at an immeasurable
distance from science, and here, as usual in such experiments, no one
could prove anything, owing to the complete unconsciousness of the
principal witnesses."
"I do not like to think that we have been near to such trouble," said
Unorna.
"Nor I. It was fortunate that I met the Wanderer when I did."
"And the other? Did he wake as I ordered him to do? Is all right? Is
there no danger of his suspecting anything?"
It seemed as though Unorna had momentarily forgotten that such a
contingency might be possible, and her anxiety returned with the
recollection.
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