Then he got up and swiftly packed a small bag, his face white and drawn.
He went into the next room. The lamp was still burning, and old Mr. Belper lay in a drunken sleep on the bed. His mouth was open, and he breathed heavily.
Gobion woke him. "I've come to say good-bye," he said.
"What! has it come to that?"
"Yes."
The old man stared heavily. "Well, good-bye," he said. "I shan't be very long either. I'm glad we've met. I, ahem, I—er"—he coughed—"I congratulate you." He passed his dirty hand over his eyes. "Yes, I—er—congratulate you. I wish—I'll see you out."
He came to the front door. They shook hands. "Good-bye," he said, "good-bye, dear boy."
He stood on the steps, a fat, grotesque figure, and watched Gobion's slim form disappear in the fog—a dirty, shameless old man.