"I know that," said Nugent. "How is it I didn't go home? I didn't
understand that it was an all-night invitation. Where is my father?"

The steward shook his head helplessly. "He was 'ere when I went out
last night," he said, slowly. "When I came back the room was empty and I
was told as 'e was upstairs in my bed."

"Told he was in your bed?" repeated the other. "Who told you?"

He pushed open the small lattice window and peered out into the alley.

Mr. Wilks caught his breath. "I mean I told myself 'e was in my bed," he
stammered, "because when I came in I see these bed-clothes on the floor,
an' I thought as the cap'n 'ad put them there for me and taken my bed
'imself."

Mr. Nugent regarded the litter of bed-clothes as though hoping that they
would throw a little light on the affair, and then shot a puzzled glance
at Mr. Wilks.

"Why should you think my father wanted your bed?" he inquired.

"I don't know," was the reply. "I thought p'r'aps 'e'd maybe taken a
little more than 'e ought to have taken. But it's all a myst'ry to me.
I'm more astonished than wot you are."

"Well, I can't make head or tail of it," said Nugent, rising and pacing
the room. "I came here to meet my father. So far as I remember I had
one drink of whisky--your whisky--and then I woke up in your bedroom with
a splitting headache and a tongue like a piece of leather. Can you