“Well, what brings you down here again, Mr. Presley?” he observed. “I thought we had seen the last of you.”
“I came down to say good-bye to my friends,” answered Presley shortly.
“Going away?”
“Yes—to India.”
“Well, upon my word. For your health, hey?”
“Yes.”
“You LOOK knocked up,” asserted the other. “By the way,” he added, “I suppose you've heard the news?”
Presley shrank a little. Of late the reports of disasters had followed so swiftly upon one another that he had begun to tremble and to quail at every unexpected bit of information.
“What news do you mean?” he asked.
“About Dyke. He has been convicted. The judge sentenced him for life.”