“They are here,” he answered, “every one of them!”
“Perhaps you are right, then,” the other man answered. “It gave me a turn, though. You are sure that you can make it again in the time you say?”
“Of course!” the youth answered, impatiently. “Besides, the thing is so simple. It speaks for itself.”
They climbed into the car, and in a few minutes were rushing away southwards.
“To-morrow night—to-morrow night it all begins!” the youth continued. “I must start with ready-made clothes. I’ll get the best I can, eat the best I can, drink wine, go to the music halls. To-morrow night.”
His speech ended in a wail—a strange, half-stifled cry which rang out with a chill, ghostly sound upon the black silence. His face was covered with a wet towel, a ghastly odor was in his nostrils, his lips refused to utter any further sound. He lay back among the cushions, senseless. The car slowed down.
“Get the papers, quick!” the elder man muttered, opening the youth’s coat. “Here they are! Catch hold, Dick! My God! What’s that?”
He shook from head to foot. The little fair man looked at him with contempt.
“A sheep bell on the moor,” he said. “Are you sure you have everything?”
“Yes!” the other muttered.