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MARRYATT BREAKS THE PLEDGE
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was really nothing else to be done; but Reeves was in a pitiable state of suspense all the time, and the hours travelled slowly. The 3.47 put down its generous toll of passengers at Paston Oatvile, but no Marryatt among them. Two more trains came in, and still no Marryatt appeared: his place was empty at the dinner-table. Reeves was in terror that he might come back in the middle; in terror that he might not come back at all. At last, as they went out from dinner, they caught sight of his face, looking white and haggard, in the entrance hall. Reeves bounded upstairs, full of relief, while Gordon marked down his man.

"Hullo, Marryatt? Had dinner? Good; come and sit in the lounge for a bit. I'd been wanting to see you."

There was only one way to open the conversation. "Have a small something in the whisky line," he suggested.

"No, thanks. Knocked off."

"Knocked off! Why on earth? Are you going to start a Band of Hope? I'm sorry, Marryatt, but I'm afraid you won't get many members to join."

"No. It's nothing of that sort. Doctor's orders, you know."

"First time I ever heard of Beazly prescribing that."

"It wasn't Beazly. I've just been up to London, you know; I went to see a specialist."

"I say, I'm awfully sorry; what's wrong? Heart?"

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