ould hang a man without
mercy, all other men applauding, but with this difference, that whereas
the former demanded a creeping and crawling cowardliness to insure
success, the latter involved iron nerve and the well-nigh daily shaking
hands with death--death, too, in many an appalling and ghastly form. All
of which was "dark" talking as far as Laurence was concerned, though the
day was to come when its meaning should stand forth as clear as a
printed page.

Even now, however, he was not absolutely mystified--far from it, indeed;
for he himself was a hard thinker, owning an ever-vivid and busy brain.
He could put half a dozen meanings to any one or other of his
companion's utterances, and among them probably the right one. And, as
they talked on, he became alive to something almost magnetic--a sort of
subtile, compelling force--about Hazon. Was it his voice or manner or
general aspect, or a combination of all three? He could not tell. He
could only realize that it existed.

For some days after this conversation the two men did not come together,
though they would nod the time of day to each other as before, and
Laurence, who had other considerations upon his hands--monetary and
agreeable--did not give the matter a thought. At last he noticed that
Hazon's place at the table was vacant--remembering, too, that it had
been so for a day or two. Had he left?

To his inquiries on that head he obtained scant and uncordial response.
Hazon was ill, some believed, while others charitably opined that he was
"on the booze." Whatever it was no one cared, and strongly recommended
Laurence to do likewise.

The latter, we have shown, was peculiarly unsusceptible to public
opinion, which, if it influenced him at all, did so in the very opposite
direction to that which was intended. Accordingly, he now made up his
mind to ascertain the truth for himself--to which end he found himself
speedily knocking at the door of Hazon's room, the while marvelling at
his own unwonted perturbation lest his overture should be regarded as an
intrusion.

"Heard you were ill," he said shortly, having entered in obedience to
the responsive "Come in." "Rough luck being ill in a place like this, or
indeed in any place, for that matter. Thought I'd see if there's
anything I could do for you."

"Very good of you, Stanninghame. Sit down there on that box--it's lower
than the chair, and therefore more comfortable. Yes, I feel a bit
knocked out. A touch of t