"Going to your office, Marsh?" the gambler asked.

"No, I'm going home," Langham said shortly, and went down the steps into
the street.

Home--until he could pull up and get control of himself, that was the
best place for him!

He turned into the Square, and from the Square into High Street, and ten
minutes later paused before his own door. After a brief instant of
irresolution he entered the house. Evelyn was probably down-town at that
hour, on one of the many errands she was always making for herself.

Without removing his hat or overcoat he dropped into a chair before the
library fire. A devastating weariness possessed him, but he knew he
could not hide there in his home. To-day he might, to-morrow even, but
the time would come when he must go out and face the world, must listen
to the endless speculation concerning Mount Hope's one great sensation,
the McBride murder. Five minutes passed while he sat lost in thought,
then he quitted his chair and went to a small cabinet at the other side
of the room, which he unlocked; from it he took a glass and a bottle.
With these he returned to his place before the fire and poured himself a
stiff drink.

"I was mad!" he said with quivering lips. "Mad!" he repeated, and again
he passed his shaking hand across his eyes. Once more he filled his
glass and emptied it, for the potent stuff gave him a certain kind of
courage. Placing the bottle and glass on the table at his elbow, he
resumed his seat.