wd," continued Feversham. "I thought that I would
speak to you, because--do you remember, a long time ago you gave me your
card? I have always kept it, because I have always feared that I would
have reason to use it. You said that if one was in trouble, the telling
might help."

Sutch stopped his companion.

"We will go in here. We can find a quiet corner in the upper
smoking-room;" and Harry, looking up, saw that he was standing by the
steps of the Army and Navy Club.

"Good God, not there!" he cried in a sharp low voice, and moved quickly
into the roadway, where no light fell directly on his face. Sutch limped
after him. "Nor to-night. It is late. To-morrow if you will, in some
quiet place, and after nightfall. I do not go out in the daylight."

Again Lieutenant Sutch asked no questions.

"I know a quiet restaurant," he said. "If we dine there at nine, we
shall meet no one whom we know. I will meet you just before nine
to-morrow night at the corner of Swallow Street."

They dined together accordingly on the following evening, at a table in
the corner of the Criterion grill-room. Feversham looked quickly about
him as he entered the room.

"I dine here often when I am in town," said Sutch. "Listen!" The
throbbing of the engines working the electric light could be distinctly
heard, their vibrations could be felt.

"It reminds me of a ship," said Sutch, with a smile. "I can almost fancy
myself in the gun-room again. We will have dinner. Then you shall tell me
your story."

"You have heard nothing of it?" asked Feversham, suspiciously.

"Not a word;" and Feversham drew a breath of relief. It had seemed to
him that every one must know. He imagined contempt on every face which
passed him in the street.

Lieutenant Sutch was even more concerned this evening than he had been
the night before. He saw Harry Feversham clearly now in a full light.
Harry's face was thin and haggard with lack of sleep, there were black
hollows beneath his eyes; he drew his breath and made his movements in a
restless feverish fashion, his nerves seemed strung to breaking-point.
Once or twice between the courses he began his story, but Sutch would
not listen until the cloth was cleared.

"Now," said he, holding out his cigar-case. "Take your time, Harry."

Thereupon Feversham told him the whole truth, without exaggeration or
omission, forcing himself to a slow, careful, matter-of-fact speech, so
that in the end Sutch almost fell into t