After dinner, when I came to the smoking-room, the poker party sat waiting, and one of them asked if I knew where they could find "my friend." I should have said then that Talbot was a steamer acquaintance only; but I hate a row, and I let the chance pass.
"We want to give him his revenge," one of them volunteered.
"He's losing, then?" I asked.
The man chuckled complacently.
"The only loser," he said.
"I wouldn't worry," I advised. "He'll come for his revenge."
That night after I had turned in he knocked at my door. I switched on the lights and saw him standing at the foot of my berth. I saw also that with difficulty he was holding himself in hand.
"I'm scared," he stammered, "scared!"
I wrote out a requisition on the surgeon for a sleeping-potion and sent it to him by the steward, giving the man to understand I wanted it for myself. Uninvited, Talbot had seated himself on the sofa. His eyes were closed, and as though he were cold he was shivering and hugging himself in his arms.
"Have you been drinking?" I asked.