‘Nothing, only I’m off, that’s all, old man. And I cannot ask you to stay this evening, you understand, because I have to pack.’
He turned slowly on Horner, who had recovered himself, but still had his hand over his face.
‘Got any money, Geoff?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I have twenty pounds if you want it,’ answered the other in a hoarse voice.
‘I do want it—badly.’
The journalist had taken up his hat and stick. He moved slowly towards the door, and, there pausing, saw Horner pass the bank-notes to Conyngham.
‘You had better go too,’ said the Irishman. ‘You two are going in the same direction, I know.’
Horner rose, and, half laughing, Conyngham pushed him towards the door.
‘See him home, Blake,’ he said. ‘Horner has the blues to-night.’