ack, but feeling that, perhaps,
after all, Brettison might be in, he knocked; waited; knocked again, and
stood listening.

"Off somewhere again picking flowers," muttered Guest. "Men begin by
picking them as children, and some end their lives gathering the sweet,
innocent looking things."

He, however, gave one more double knock before turning away and going
back to Stratton's door.

Here he knocked gently, but there was no reply. He knocked again,
feeling a sensation of nervousness come over him as he thought of the
words of the porter's wife; and, as there was no reply, he could not
help a little self-congratulation at there being no admission.

But he frowned at his weakness directly.

"Absurd! Cowardice!" he muttered. "This is nothing like acting the
friend."

He knocked again, and, as there was still silence, he lifted the cover
of the letter slit and placed his lips to the place.

"Here, Malcolm, old fellow, open this door," he cried. "I'm sure you
are there."

A faint rustling sound within told him he was right, and directly after
the door was opened.

"You, Percy!" said the hollow-faced, haggard man, staring at him, and
giving way unwillingly as, forcing himself to act, Guest stepped forward
and entered the room.

He repented the moment he was inside, for the room looked strange and
gloomy through the window blind being drawn down, and there was a
singularly wild, strained look in Stratton's eyes, which never left him
for a moment, suggestive of the truth of Mrs Brade's words.

Stratton had hurriedly closed the outer door upon his friend's entrance,
but he had left the inner undone; and now stood holding it open as if
for his visitor to go.

Guest felt ready to obey, but he again mastered his weakness and took a
chair, knowing that if he was to perform a manly act and save his
friend, he must be calm and firm. But in spite of himself, as he took
his seat he gave a hasty glance round the room, thinking of its
loneliness, and the extreme improbability of anyone hearing a cry for
help.

"Why have you come back so soon?" said Stratton at last.

"The old reason. Sort of stupid, spaniel-like feeling for the man who
kicks me."

Stratton made a hasty gesture.

"Didn't like to stop away long after your being so upset last night."

Stratton shuddered, and his friend watched him curiously again.

"I'm much better now."

"Glad of it, but your nerves are terribly unstrung; or you wouldn't be