"And glad I am to go," said Mrs. Moon, withdrawing with a ponderous step, "being engaged in playing kings."
"Kings," said Conniston, when she vanished.
Bernard, in spite of his sadness, laughed and explained. "It's a game of patience," he said. "I asked Mrs. Moon for a pack of cards to pass the time, and was playing the game myself. She was curious; so, to keep her in a good temper, I taught it to her. Ever since she has been playing it unsuccessfully."
"Oh!" Conniston was not interested in his housekeeper's games. He opened the bottle of port and carefully poured out a full glass, which he passed to Bernard. "Drink that up, you sinner."
Gore sipped a little wine but finally drank the whole glass. Conniston made him take another in spite of his protestations, and then the color came back to his sunken cheeks. The poor fellow was thin with anxiety and want of sleep. When Conniston saw he was better he made him light a pipe and then sat down to hear an account of his escape. Bernard was grateful for these attentions and began to look less cowed.
"You're a good friend, Dick," he said, smoking luxuriously. "This is the first moment of peace I have known since that awful moment."
"How did you escape?" asked Conniston, lighting a cigarette.
"I threw myself into the river and swam across."
"In the fog?"
"Yes. I was guided by the piers of the Chelsea Bridge. On the opposite side I took off my coat and hat and left them lying on the bank, so that it might be thought I was drowned."