Piers threw him a quick look. "Oh, you needn't be afraid," he said. "I'm not going to cry off. It's not my way. But—I want you to make me a promise in return."
"What is it, sonny?" There was just a hint of anxiety in Crowther's tone.
Piers made a reckless, half-defiant movement of the head. "It is that you will never—whatever the circumstances—speak of this thing again to anyone—not even to me."
"You think it necessary to ask that of me?" said Crowther.
"No, I don't!" Impulsively Piers made answer. "I believe I'm a cur to ask it. But this thing has dogged me so persistently that I feel like an animal being run to earth. For my peace of mind, Crowther;—because I'm a coward if you like—give me your word on it!"
He laid a hand not wholly steady upon Crowther's shoulder, and impelled him forward. His voice was low and agitated.
"Forgive me, old chap!" he urged. "And understand, if you can. It's all you can do to help."
"My dear lad, of course I do!" Instant and reassuring came Crowther's reply. "If you want my promise, you have it. The business is yours, not mine. I shall never interfere."
"Thank you—thanks awfully!" Piers said.
He drew a great breath. His hand went through Crowther's arm.