When the sound of voices told him at last of the return of the two men, he drew back out of sight of the window while the obsequious khansama went forth upon his errand. Then a moment or two later he heard them separate, and one alone came in his direction. Everard entered with the gait of a tired man.
The lamp dazzled him for a second, and Tommy saw him first. He smothered an involuntary exclamation and stepped forward.
"Tommy!" said Monck, as if incredulous.
Tommy stood in front of him, his hands at his sides. "Yes, it's me. I had to come over—just to have a look at you. Ralston said—said—oh, damn it, it doesn't matter what he said. Only I had to—just come and see for myself. You see, I—I—" he faltered badly, but recovered himself under the straight gaze of Everard's eyes—"I can't get the thought of you out of my mind. I've been a damn' cur. You won't want to speak to me of course, but when Ralston started jawing about you this afternoon, I found—I found—" he choked suddenly—"I couldn't stand it any longer," he said in a strangled whisper.
Monck was looking full at him by the merciless glare of the lamp on the table, which revealed himself very fully also. All the grim lines in his face seemed to be accentuated. He looked years older. The hair above his temples gleamed silver where it caught the light.
He did not speak at once. Only as Tommy made a blind movement as if to go, he put forth a hand and took him by the arm.
"Tommy," he said, "what have you been doing?"
Out of deep hollows his eyes looked forth, indomitable, relentless as they had ever been, searching the boy's downcast face.
Tommy quivered a little under their piercing scrutiny, but he made no attempt to avoid it.
"Look at me!" Monck commanded.