"But you don't understand the dust that Newall, Parfitt & Co. are kicking up? Can't you see that they've got Moncrief major completely under their thumb? They'll make Garside too hot to hold you."
"We'll see. I'm not beaten yet."
"Better let me speak," persisted Waterman.
Paul shook his head.
"I give you up. You are worse than old Euclid!" exclaimed Waterman, plunging his hands deeper into his pockets.
With a yawn he strolled towards the door, edged his shoulder round it until he had opened it wide enough for his body to pass through, closed it by a like man[oe]uvre, and with the same measured step went on his way.
"After all, I've got one friend at Garside," thought Paul, with a smile, "though he does like to take his time over things."
He looked in the glass. His cheek was swollen and bruised. His appearance was very much what Stanley's had been when he had returned from the sand-pits after his encounter with Wyndham.
"I hope Stanley is satisfied," he said, smiling grimly at himself in the glass.
Then he remembered that he hadn't carried out the purpose for which he had gone to the common room. He had gone there for the purpose of speaking to him about Mr. Moncrief's letter. It was useless to think of doing so now. He would put the letter in his desk till a more convenient season. His hand went to his pocket. The letter had gone!