library. There was no one else about, and Whitaker was as glad of that
as it was in him to be glad of anything just then. He dropped heavily
into a big arm-chair and waited, his brain whirling and seething, his
nerves on edge and screeching. In this state Peter Stark found him.

Peter sauntered into the room with a manner elaborately careless.
Beneath that mask he was anything but indifferent, just as his
appearance was anything but fortuitous. It happened that the page who
had taken Whitaker's order, knowing that Peter and Hugh were close
friends, and suspecting that something was wrong with the latter, had
sought out Peter before going to get the order filled. Moreover, Peter
had already heard about Alice Carstairs and Percy Grimshaw.

"Hel-_lo_!" he said, contriving by mere accident to catch sight of
Whitaker, who was almost invisible in the big chair with its back to the
body of the room. "What you doing up here, Hugh? What's up?"

"It's all up," said Whitaker, trying to pull himself together.
"Everything's up!"

"Don't believe it," said Stark, coolly. "My feet are on the ground; but
you look as if you'd seen a ghost."

"I have--my own," said Whitaker. The page now stood beside him with a
tray. "Open it," he told the boy, indicating a half-bottle of champagne;
and then to Peter: "I'm having a bath. Won't you jump in?"

Peter whistled, watching the wine cream over the brandy in the long
glass. "King's peg, eh?" he said, with a lift of disapproving eyebrows.
"Here, boy, bring me some Scotch and plain water for common people."

The boy disappeared as Whitaker lifted his glass.

"I'm not waiting," he said bluntly. "I need this now."

"That's a question, in my mind, at least. Don't you think you've had
about enough for one day?"

"I leave it to your superior knowledge of my capacity," said Whitaker,
putting aside the empty glass. "That's my first to-day."

Peter saw that he was telling the truth, but the edge of his disapproval
remained keen.

"I hope," he said thoughtfully, "that the man who started that lie about
drink making a fellow forget died the death of a dog. He deserved to,
anyway, because it's one of the cruellest practical jokes ever
perpetrated on the human race. I know, because I've tried it on,
hard--and waked up sick to my marrow to remember what a disgusting ass
I'd made of myself for all to behold." He stopped at Whitaker's side and
dropped a hand on his shoulder. "Hugh," he said, "you're