of a child
complaining of something beyond his experience. "I can't remember when
they haven't been crowdin' me. Movin' me on, you understand? Always
movin' me on. Moved me out of India, then Cairo, then they closed Paris,
and now they've shut me out of London. I opened a club there, very
quiet, very exclusive, smart neighborhood, too--a flat in Berkeley
Street--roulette and chemin de fer. I think it was my valet sold me out;
anyway, they came in and took us all to Bow Street. So I've plunged on
this. It's my last chance!"

"This trip?"

"No; my family in New York. Haven't seen 'em in ten years. They paid me
to live abroad. I'm gambling on _them_; gambling on their takin' me
back. I'm coming home as the Prodigal Son, tired of filling my belly
with the husks that the swine do eat; reformed character, repentant and
all that; want to follow the straight and narrow; and they'll kill the
fatted calf." He laughed sardonically. "Like hell they will! They'd
rather see _me_ killed."

It seemed to me, if he wished his family to believe he were returning
repentant, his course in the smoking-room would not help to reassure
them. I suggested as much.

"If you get into 'trouble,' as you call it," I said, "and they send a
wireless to the police to be at the wharf, your people would hardly--"

"I know," he interrupted; "but I got to chance that. I _got_ to make
enough to go on with--until I see my family."

"If they won't see you?" I asked. "What then?"

He shrugged his shoulders and sighed lightly, almost with relief, as
though for him the prospect held no terror.

"Then it's 'Good night, nurse,'" he said. "And I won't be a bother to
anybody any more."

I told him his nerves were talking, and talking rot, and I gave him the
sleeping-draft and sent him to bed.

It was not until after luncheon the next day when he made his first
appearance on deck that I again saw my patient. He was once more a
healthy picture of a young Englishman of leisure; keen, smart, and fit;
ready for any exercise or sport. The particular sport at which he was so
expert I asked him to avoid.

"Can't be done!" he assured me. "I'm the loser, and we dock to-morrow
morning. So to-night I've got to make my killing."

It was the others who made the killing.

I came into the smoking-room about nine o'clock. Talbot alone was
seated. The others were on their feet, and behind them in a wider
semicircle were passengers, the smoking-room stewards, and the s