“What! I’m coming, I say, at a quarter to seven, and then we’re going out to dine.”
“Very well,” said Stratton meekly, and his friend left the chambers.
“Only touched a little,” said Guest, as he went across the inn, put his head in at the lodge, and nodded pleasantly to Mrs Brade, for she was engaged with someone else.
“Better, Mrs Brade—nothing to mind. He’ll soon be all right,” he continued to himself. “Poor old chap. Only wants a strong will over him. Wish mine were stronger, and I had a little more manly pluck; but he did not see how nervous I was; and, take it altogether, I did not do so badly.”
What time Stratton was pacing his room and talking hurriedly to himself.
“It is horrible,” he muttered; “too much for a man to bear. Do I look so wild?”
He stopped in front of an old Venetian mirror, and scanned his haggard countenance for a few moments before turning away with a shudder, to resume his walk up and down the room.
“They could do it,” he said fiercely. “I could not help myself. My conduct would be sufficient plea. A visit from a couple of doctors, and no matter what I said, I might be taken away. Medical supervision,” he said, with a bitter laugh; “imprisonment till such time as they chose to set me free. Well, it would be pleasant to be able to throw all responsibilities upon someone else if one could only cease to think. But that would be too terrible. I must give up everything and trust to Guest.”
He looked sharply round the room again, and stood listening, for he fancied that he heard a sound, and, stepping softly to the panel door on the right of the fireplace, he placed his ear to the woodwork, and stood listening for some moments.
But he was evidently dissatisfied. He seemed to be trying to make out whether anyone was in Brettison’s room but he was listening at the end of a passage turned into a closet like his own, and he knew that if the door at the other end were closed it was in vain.