Bassett at the Exiles’ Club received Lechworthy’s reply to his letter shortly after the luncheon hour. Bassett himself was unable to eat luncheon; he was sick with fear. He grew worse every hour. His nerves had broken down. Sir John and Dr Soames Pryce had taken all possible means to safeguard Bassett’s life, for that night at any rate. Every member in whom reliance could be placed was ready to help. From ten to twelve Bassett was to remain in the secretary’s room. There would be a guard outside both window and door. All over the club garden a watch would be kept. To protect him from poison his food and drink were to be tasted by native servants. Preparations were made to deal with any sudden outbreak of fire.
“Can’t you pull yourself together a little?” said Dr Pryce, utterly weary of him.
“Everything you’ve done’s no good,” said Bassett. “I know King Smith, and he does what he says. You can’t stop him.”
“Don’t be a fool, Bassett,” said Sir John. “King Smith is a man and he cannot do miracles. You probably will never be safer in your life than you will be to-night. For that matter, your letter to Lechworthy may get you off altogether.”
Bassett began to weep. He was a humiliating, distressing, repellent spectacle. Dr Soames Pryce ordered brandy to be brought, and forced him to take a stiff dose.
He then became sullen and morose. He said that he wished he had not taken the brandy. Drink was the curse of more than half the men in the club, and he thanked God he had never given way to it. Then he became suspicious of the revolver which had been given him. How was he to know it was all right? Finally he exchanged weapons with Sir John.
The arrival of the letter from Lechworthy did nothing to inspirit him. He read it aloud.
“There you are, you see,” said Sir John. “Sentence commuted. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself for behaving in this way? I told you Lechworthy would get you off.”
“Get me off?” said Bassett. “Do you mean to say you can’t see that this thing’s a trap? A little before midnight I’m to hand myself over to some man at the gates. He takes me away. Oh, yes! Good-bye all! How long afterwards do you suppose I shall be alive?”
“Do you think Lechworthy would trap you in that way?”