"Thank heavens!" Julian exclaimed piously, as a storm of rain blew
in through the half-open door. "Good night and good luck, old
chap!"

Furley's reply was drowned in the roar of wind. Julian secured
the door, underneath which a little stream of rain was creeping
in. Then he returned to the sitting room, threw a log upon the
fire, and drew one of the ancient easy-chairs close up to the
blaze.




CHAPTER II


Julian, notwithstanding his deliberate intention of abandoning
himself to an hour's complete repose, became, after the first few
minutes of solitude, conscious of a peculiar and increasing sense
of restlessness. With the help of a rubber-shod stick which
leaned against his chair, he rose presently to his feet and moved
about the room, revealing a lameness which had the appearance of
permanency. In the small, white-ceilinged apartment his height
became more than ever noticeable, also the squareness of his
shoulders and the lean vigour of his frame. He handled his gun
for a moment and laid it down; glanced at the card stuck in the
cheap looking glass, which announced that David Grice let lodgings
and conducted shooting parties; turned with a shiver from the
contemplation of two atrocious oleographs, a church calendar