"Get away from there, Martin!" called the big man peremptorily. "I'll ring again when I want you. Clear out now! It's otherwise engaged I am."
"Very well, sir," came the muffled and somewhat wondering reply.
Staring solemnly at one another, the two in the bedroom stood silent while the invisible Martin's steps receded slowly along the hall and began to descend the stairs.
"And for why will you not take my hand?" demanded the giant with a frown that was bewildered, rather than angry.
The man with the bruised head laughed. "I can't-can't-" Unable to control his voice, he lapsed into miserable silence.
The giant's frown deepened. He drew back a little, hitching the robe up over his bare shoulders.
"What is it ails you, Bobby? Here I'm glad to see you the way I cannot find words to tell it and you will not take my hand! Did you get my letter, and is this a surprise visit? You're welcome, however you've come!"
But the other shrank still closer against the door, while his pallid face grew actually gray. "May I-may I sit down?" he gasped. He was swaying like a drunken man, and his knees seemed to have no strength left in them.
"Sit down! But you may indeed." Trenmore sprang instantly to help him to the nearest chair, one arm about his shoulder in a gentle, kindly pressure. "Tell me now, did you really get my letter?"
"What letter?"