Kincheloe had not been born when Lucas had met James Quinlan at Galilee and sent him thence with the flaming torch; yet, at that meeting, the death of the unborn child had been decreed.
It was somewhat astounding to recount, as Lucas found himself doing, the seemingly never-ending, ever-spreading effect of that meeting, originally intended to accomplish but one limited object and stop there. Lucas did not at all wish to let his wife know that Kincheloe was dead, even though the manner of his death made it easily arguable that he had killed himself in a drunken debauch utterly unconnected with Lucas's affairs. Lucas did not relish the prospect of having Kincheloe in the increasing ranks of the dead who had passed on, directly or indirectly, by his act. A little while ago, to know that one was dead was to know that he was "removed"; but that was the case with Lucas no longer. "J.Q." with his flaming torch, had succeeded in registering himself upon andother's consciousness; might M. K. do the same?
No; Lucas could not think of Kincheloe as being nearly so "safe" for him as though he were in Yokohama; not so safe, perhaps, as Kincheloe had been yesterday here in Chicago. Lucas jerked himself back to practical considerations. Kincheloe, though not yet identified, sooner or later would be, and perhaps, as things stood, it was to Lucas's advantage that it be sooner. Kincheloe—Kincheloe who was dead and yet, in Lucas's mind, less dead than any one who had previously passed on—might appreciate the respect of immediate identification and care. Moreover, that fellow who called himself Loutrelle, and who threatened trouble, had particularly wished to make sure of
