swear before I made you. Perhaps we are both doing what we think
right. But what we think right is so damned different that there
can be nothing between us in the way of concession. There is
nothing possible between us but honour and death," and he pulled
the great cloak about his shoulders and picked up the flask from
the table.

"The boat is quite ready," said Mr. Buttons, bustling up. "Be good
enough to step this way."

With a gesture that revealed the shop-walker, he led Syme down a
short, iron-bound passage, the still agonised Gregory following
feverishly at their heels. At the end of the passage was a door,
which Buttons opened sharply, showing a sudden blue and silver
picture of the moonlit river, that looked like a scene in a
theatre. Close to the opening lay a dark, dwarfish steam-launch,
like a baby dragon with one red eye.

Almost in the act of stepping on board, Gabriel Syme turned to the
gaping Gregory.

"You have kept your word," he said gently, with his face in shadow.
"You are a man of honour, and I thank you. You have kept it even
down to a small particular. There was one special thing you
promised me at the beginning of the affair, and which you have
certainly given me by the end of it."

"What do you mean?" cried the chaotic Gregory. "What did I promise
you?"