"Where are you staying?" said Crowther.
"At Marchmont's. At least I've got a room there. I haven't any definite plans at present."
"Unless you go round the world with me," said Crowther.
Piers' eyes travelled upwards sharply. "No, old chap. I didn't mean it. I wouldn't have you if you'd come. It was only a try-on, that."
"Some try-ons fit," said Crowther gravely. He turned towards the table, and reached for the drink he had prepared for Piers. "Look here, sonny! Have a drink!"
Piers drank in silence, Crowther steadily watching.
"You would have to be back by March," he said presently.
"What?" said Piers.
It was like a protest, the involuntary startled outcry of the patient under the probe. Crowther's hand grasped his more closely. "I'll go with you on that understanding, Piers," he said. "You'll be wanted then."
Piers groaned. "If it hadn't been for—that," he said, "I'd have ended the whole business with a bullet before now."