"Look here," said he, "I can't go. It's a damned nuisance, but it's out
of the question. Leave those things till to-morrow."

"To-morrow?" Stanistreet stared vaguely at his host.

"Yes; you must see me through this, Stanny. I can't trust myself by
myself. For God's sake let's go and do something, or I'll go off my
head."

They spent the afternoon in the low coverts about the Toft, and the
evening in the billiard-room, sitting forlornly over whiskey-and-soda.
A peculiar throbbing silence and mystery seemed to hang about the house.
Stanistreet was depressed and hardly spoke, while Tyson vainly tried to
hide his nervousness under a fictitious jocularity. He looked eagerly for
the night, by which time he had concluded that all anxiety would be
ended. But when ten o'clock came and he found that nothing more nor less
than a long night-watch was required of him, his nerves revolted.

"I wonder how long this business is going to last? I wish to God I'd
never stayed." He leaned back against the chimney-piece, grinding his
heels on the fender in his irritation. "I was a fool not to get away in
the morning when I had the chance."

He looked up and saw Stanistreet regarding him with a curiously critical
expression. Louis did not look very like sitting up all night; his lean
face was haggard already.

"I say, Stanistreet, it's awfully good of you to stop like this. I'm
confoundedly sorry I asked you to. I don't know how we're going to get
through the night." He cast a glance at the billiard-table. "Pity we