"Stuff! I'm as well as you are. I see my mistake now; it was the shadow that frightened me. But for the moment I really did think the floor was giving way. My nerves are not quite the thing. It's overwork. I must have a tonic."
Ellison put the pearl in the lower drawer of the safe, and then securely locked the door again. Both he and Murkard held keys, and for the moment he was in some doubt as to whether he should give the duplicate back to the other in his present state. Yet he hardly liked to refuse, for fear of offending him.
"Are you afraid to trust me with my key again, Mr. Ellison?" snarled Murkard.
"Afraid to trust you—what are you thinking about? Of course not; there's your key? Now you just come along with me, and I'll put you to bed."
"Bosh! I'm not going to bed; I've got my work to do, and I'll thank you to mind your own business. When I want your sympathy I'll ask you for it. In the meantime, be so good as to spare me the indignity of offering it."
"It is certainly time I looked after him," said Ellison to himself. "This is the liquor again, with a vengeance!"
But in spite of his first refusal, Murkard allowed himself to be led to his hut. Once there, he threw himself on his bed, and announced his intention of going to sleep.
"The best thing you can possibly do. I'll come back in a little while and have a look at you."
He left him picking at the pattern on his counterpane, and went back to the house. When he got there, to his surprise he discovered his wife sitting in the veranda talking to a stranger—a tall man about thirty years of age, neatly dressed, and boasting a handsome, aristocratic face.
As Ellison approached he heard his wife say: