Utter exhaustion finally overpowered his fevered brain and he fell into
a troubled sleep, from which he was aroused by Denning's voice. The car
was not in motion, and he divined that it had been shunted to await
their pleasure. He dressed hastily, his heart still aching with dread
and uncertainty.

As he faced himself in the mirror he noted his sunken eyes and ghastly
color, and Denning, entering behind him, noted it, too, with a quick
thrill of sympathy. He had come to accept as fact his fear, expressed in
the directors' room. Gard must be suffering from some deadly disease.

"You look all in, Gard," he said regretfully. "I'm sorry I had to drive
you so." He hesitated. "Has--have the doctors been giving you a scare
about yourself?"

Gard divined the other's version of his strange actions, and jumped at
an excuse that explained and covered much.

"Don't talk about it," he said gruffly. "You know it won't do to have
rumors about my health going round."

Denning took the remark as a tacit acquiescence. His face expressed
genuine sympathy and compassion.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly.

Gard looked up and frowned, yet the kindliness extended, though it was
for an imaginary reason, was grateful to him.