"Has Mr Vyse gone yet?" the boy asked the porter.
"Not yet, Sir William. Mr Vyse is changing in one of the dressing-rooms. His car is outside."
The two men passed the car in the street, and noticed the luggage in the tonneau. The driver, in his long leather coat, stood motionless beside it, waiting for his master. The powerful headlight raked the dusk of the street; you could see the paint on a tired woman's cheek as she passed through it on her way home at last.
"See his game?" said Bill.
"Of course," said the doctor. "He's off to the marshes and that blessed tower of his to-night."
"Well, I don't envy him—holy sort of amusement it must be driving all that way on a cold night like this. I wonder if the beggar ever goes to sleep at all?"
They had reached Bill's chambers in Jermyn Street.
"You must come in and have a drink," said Bill.
"Don't think so, thanks," said the doctor; "it's late, you know."
"You'd better," said Bill, and the doctor followed him in.