abandoned me and I went on deck.
When I returned an hour later to the smoking-room he was deep in a game
of poker.

As I passed he hailed me gayly.

"Don't scold, now," he laughed; "you know I can't keep away from it."

From his manner those at the table might have supposed we were friends
of long and happy companionship. I stopped behind his chair, but he
thought I had passed, and in reply to one of the players answered:
"Known him for years; he's set me right many a time. When I broke my
right femur 'chasin,' he got me back in the saddle in six weeks. All my
people swear by him."

One of the players smiled up at me, and Talbot turned. But his eyes met
mine with perfect serenity. He even held up his cards for me to see.
"What would you draw?" he asked.

His audacity so astonished me that in silence I could only stare at him
and walk on.

When on deck he met me he was not even apologetic. Instead, as though we
were partners in crime, he chuckled delightedly.

"Sorry," he said. "Had to do it. They weren't very keen at my taking a
hand, so I had to use your name. But I'm all right now," he assured me.
"They think you vouched for me, and to-night they're going to raise the
limit. I've convinced them I'm an easy mark."

"And I take it you are not," I said stiffly.

He considered this unworthy of an answer and only smiled. Then the smile
died, and again in his eyes I saw distress, infinite weariness, and
fear.

As though his thoughts drove him to seek protection, he came closer.

"I'm 'in bad,' doctor," he said. His voice was frightened, bewildered,
like that of a child. "I can't sleep; nerves all on the loose. I don't
think straight. I hear voices, and no one around. I hear knockings at
the door, and when I open it, no one there. If I don't keep fit I can't
work, and this trip I got to make expenses. You couldn't help me, could
you--couldn't give me something to keep my head straight?"

The need of my keeping his head straight that he might the easier rob
our fellow-passengers raised a pretty question of ethics. I meanly
dodged it. I told him professional etiquette required I should leave him
to the ship's surgeon.

"But I don't know HIM," he protested.

Mindful of the use he had made of my name, I objected strenuously:

"Well, you certainly don't know me."

My resentment obviously puzzled him.

"I know who you ARE," he returned. "You and I--" With a deprecatory
gesture, as though good taste forbade hi