"Haven't seen him. Come and have a drink. You look a bit shaky."

Drexley shook his head. He wanted to drink, but not with any thoughts
of good fellowship in his heart. His was a fiercer desire--the craving
for mad blood or the waters of Lethe. He chose a quiet corner in the
reading room, and rang for brandy.

Meanwhile Douglas came blithely down the Strand, a smile upon his lips,
a crowd of pleasant thoughts in his brain. To think that little Cicely
should have grown so pretty. How pleased she had been to see him, and
how she had enjoyed their little dinner. Next week would be something
to look forward to. He would look out some of his work which he knew
would interest her. After all, it had been she who had been the first
person in the world to say a word of encouragement to him.

In the hall of the club some one shouted that Drexley had been inquiring
for him. He ordered some coffee and made his way up into the
writing-room. Drexley was there waiting, his head drooped upon his
folded arms. He looked up as Douglas entered.



CHAPTER XXII

DREXLEY SPEAKS OUT

Douglas halted in the middle of the room. He knew Drexley but slightly,
and his appearance was forbidding. Drexley waved him to a chair and
looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, but his tone was steady enough.