"It's me,—Charlie Webster. Got a nice surprise for you."
"Come in."
And in strode Charlie, followed by the tall stranger and the lank Mr. Hatch.
Courtney, full dressed,—except that he wore instead of his coat a thick blue bath gown,—was sitting at a table in front of the small wood-fire stove, playing solitaire. A saucer at one corner of the table served as an ash tray. It was half full of cigarette stubs.
"Well, what the—" he began, and then, catching sight of the stranger, scrambled up from his chair, his mouth still open.
"I thought you'd be surprised," said Charlie triumphantly. "This is Mr. Blythe, Mr. Thane,—shake hands with each other, comrades. When I told him you were so keen to see him and talk over old times, he said slap-bang he'd come with me when I offered to bring him up."
"I hope we're not intruding, Mr. Thane," said Blythe, advancing with hand extended. "Mr. Webster assured me you were quite well enough to receive—"
"I am glad you came," cried Courtney, recovering from his surprise. "Awfully good of you. These beastly lungs of mine, you know. The least little flare-up scares me stiff. Still, I had almost screwed up my nerve to going out this afternoon—"
"It doesn't pay to take any risks," warned Blythe, as they shook hands.
The two men looked each other closely, steadily in the eye. Courtney was the first to speak at the end of this mutual scrutiny.