His extraordinary attitude, his no less extraordinary words, amazed at least two of his hearers. Grenier, rendered callous now by sheer hopelessness, was pouring out some brandy and lighting a cigarette. The revulsion of feeling at the sight of Mason had calmed him. He would make the most of the few minutes that were left before he was handcuffed.
Dr. Scarth took the precaution of locking the door, and putting the key into his pocket. It is doubtful if he would have done this had he known Mason's violent character. But, unknown to Philip, he carried a revolver, which he whipped forth when Grenier bolted, and as rapidly concealed when it was not needed.
"You did not kill me, you see," said Philip, sinking into a chair, for the excitement was beginning to tell on him.
The big man slowly dropped his hands. His prominent eyes seemed to be fascinated by the sight of one whom he threw apparently lifeless into the sea.
"I could lick your boots," he said, thickly.
The queer idea sounded ludicrous. Yet it conveyed a good deal. It smacked of remorse, repentance.
"Tell me," began Philip, but a loud knocking without interrupted him.
"Who is there?" said Dr. Scarth.
"Abingdon. I want to see Mr. Anson," was the reply, in a voice that Philip hailed joyfully.
Mr. Abingdon was admitted. His astonishment was extreme at the nature of the gathering, but he instantly noticed Philip's wan appearance, and the bandage on his head.