And Peter saw that it was.
The planes did not come back. The officer in charge of the train came down it with a lantern, and looked in. "That makes three," he said. "We can do nothing now, but we'll be in the station in a bit. Don't show any lights; they may come back. Where the hell were our machines, I'd like to know?"
He went on, and Peter sat down in his corner. Langton picked up the rug, and covered up the body. Then he glanced at Peter. "Here," he said, holding out a flask, "have some of this."
Peter shook his head. Langton came over to him. "You must," he said; "it'll pull you together. Don't go under now, Graham. You kept your nerve just now—come on."
At that Peter took it, and drained the little cup the other poured out for him. Then he handed it back, without a word.
"Feel better?" queried the other, a trifle curiously, staring at him.
"Yes, thanks," said Peter—"a damned sight better! Poor old Jenks! What blasted luck that he should have got it!… Langton, I wish to God it had been me!"
PART II
"And the Lord turned and looked upon Peter."