“And I can trust you?”
“Of course.”
“Then I will go.”
“Oh, yes; I shall be all right now, and I may write to you from the country and ask you to join me.”
“Thanks,” said Guest dryly; “but you are not going yet. We’ll talk about that when I come back.”
“Come back?” said Stratton wildly.
“Oh, yes; I shan’t be above an hour.”
“But, really, my dear Percy—”
“I will not hear a word now. There, let some fresh air into the room; the place smells stuffy; my fault, I suppose. It’s as if the ghosts of all the cigars I have smoked here were rising up in evidence against me. Ta ta! I shall not be long.”
Stratton made no reply, but smiled at him faintly as he passed out and closed the door after him. But the moment Stratton was alone there was a sudden change. He clasped his hands to his head, and began to pace the room with rapid strides, but dropped one arm directly as he turned pallid with pain.