by the unsteady
hand of that drunken fool... an attempt only at present....

But still... a beginning.

Close by was the draft of it as written out by Chauvelin, and which Sir
Percy had evidently begun to copy.

He had made up his mind then.... He meant to subscribe with his own hand
to his lasting dishonour... and meaning it, he slept!

Chauvelin felt the paper trembling in his hand. He felt strangely
agitated and nervous, now that the issue was so near... so sure!...

"There's no demmed hurry for that, is there... er... Monsieur
Chaubertin?..." came from the slowly wakening Sir Percy in somewhat
thick, heavy accents, accompanied by a prolonged yawn. "I haven't got
the demmed thing quite ready..."

Chauvelin had been so startled that the paper dropped from his hand. He
stooped to pick it up.

"Nay! why should you be so scared, sir?" continued Sir Percy lazily,
"did you think I was drunk?... I assure you, sir, on my honour, I am not
so drunk as you think I am."

"I have no doubt, Sir Percy," replied Chauvelin ironically, "that you
have all your marvellous faculties entirely at your command.... I
must apologize for disturbing your papers," he added, replacing the
half-written page on the table, "I thought perhaps that if the letter
was ready ..."

"It will be, sir... it will be... for I am not drunk, I assure you....
and can write with a steady hand... and do honour to my signature...."

"When will you have the letter ready, Sir Percy?"

"The 'Day-Dream' must leave the harbour at the turn of the tide," quoth
Sir Percy thickly. "It'll be demmed well time by then... won't it,
sir?..."

"About sundown, Sir Percy... not later..."

"About sundown... not later..." muttered Blakeney, as he once more
stretched his long limbs along the narrow bed.

He gave a loud and hearty yawn.

"I'll not fail you..." he murmured, as he closed his eyes, and gave a
final struggle to get his head at a comfortable angle, "the letter will
be written in my best cali... calig.... Lud! but I'm not so drunk as you
think I am. ..."

But as if to belie his own oft-repeated assertion, hardly was the last
word out of his mouth than his stertorous and even breathing proclaimed
the fact that he was once more fast asleep.

With a shrug of the shoulders and a look of unutterable contempt at
his broken-down enemy, Chauvelin turned on his heel and went out of the
room.

But outside in the corridor he called the orderly to him and gave st