Douglas was willing enough, and between them the job was soon finished. The little man, who was a confectioner, explained that he had an assistant who came from a distance, and whose laziness was most phenomenal. After this morning, however, his services would be dispensed with. For once he had gone a little too far. Eight o'clock and no sign of him. It was monstrous! The little man produced a few coppers and glanced towards Douglas with some hesitation.
Douglas laughed softly.
"I don't want any money, thanks," he said, "but if I could beg a piece of bread or cake, I'm really hungry."
The little man nodded and hastened into the shop. Douglas followed him.
"If you'd care for a cup of milk," he remarked, taking a tin from the door handle, "we can manage it. No tea yet, I'm afraid."
"I should enjoy the milk very much if you can spare it."
He made a curious meal. A little hysterical, but stronger at every mouthful. The little man watched him covertly.
"Like a wash?" he inquired.
"Rather," Douglas answered. After all, it was a good start for the day.
He walked out of the shop a quarter of an hour later a new man, spruce and clean, smoking a cigarette, and with the terrors of the night far behind him. The cold water had been like a sweet, keen tonic to him. The cobwebs had gone from his brain. Memory had returned. What a fool he had been. There was no such person as Douglas Guest. Douglas Guest was dead. What need for him to fear?