Again my body sickened. I was physically afflicted. Nausea seized me. But now my mind rose up and protested against the condition, against the domination of my body, like a thing angry and ashamed. Suddenly I took a resolution. I would open the door without delay in answer to the appeal of the black spaniel. Swiftly I went back to the door, grasped the handle, turned it, pushed. The door resisted me. It was locked. As I realised this I heard from within the desolate whining of a dog imprisoned. “Luttrell! Luttrell!” Vernon’s voice called to me from above, and at the same time I heard a footstep. Cragg was coming down. I moved swiftly back into the hall and met him. He glanced at me inquiringly, looked down the passage, then at me again. His face for an instant was eloquent with inquiry—with—was it sympathy? Then he was once more the discreet servant, saying in a formal voice— “Please come up, Sir; Mr. Kersteven will be very glad to see you.” Vernon met me on the landing by the drawing-room door. I saw at once that he was not well. His face was very pale, and had a peculiar look, as if the skin were drawn upward towards the wrinkled forehead, which I had sometimes noticed in people suffering from prolonged insomnia. It gave a horribly strained appearance to his countenance, in which the eyes looked unnaturally eager and full of curious observation. “Were you in the hall?” he said, taking my hand for the fraction of an instant, and then dropping it as if with relief. “I waited in the hall,” I replied evasively. “You were there then while Cragg was up here?” “He asked me to wait there,” I said. “While he went to see if you were well enough to receive me. I’m sorry to hear you’re seedy.” “Oh, it’s of no consequence. Come in.” We went into the drawing-room. “What’s been the matter?” I asked, as we sat down. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been overworking, I suppose.” “With Gernham?” I said. “Gernham!”—he looked at me narrowly. “You—have you seen Gernham to-day?” “Yes.” “Oh.” He sat silent for a moment. I could see that he was hesitating whether to tell me about his breach with Gernham or not. “How d’you like Gernham?” he said at length. “He likes you. He told me so.” “I know him very slightly, but one can’t help respecting such a genuine fellow,” I replied. “Genuine—yes, he’s that.” “If he undertook a thing, nothing would stop him from going through with it.” “You think so?” He slightly smiled. “But suppose he were to encounter an opposition as thorough as his own attack? What then?” I knew at once that he was thinking of Gernham and himself. “Then,” I said, “there would be a battle royal.” “A battle royal, would there? Yes, no doubt.”