“And when it was over, and the strange, bitter spirit of the man who called himself Jimmy Mainwaring had gone out on the unknown road, I touched her on the shoulder. She rose blindly and stumbled out into the darkness at my side. I don’t think I spoke a word to her, beyond telling her to take my arm. And after a while she grew heavier and heavier on it, until at last she slipped down—a little unconscious heap of sobbing girlhood.” Merton paused and lit a cigarette with a smile. “So that is how it was ordained that I should carry the Lady Sylvia Clavering, slung over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, for three miles. I remember staggering into the village to find myself surrounded by men from the yacht. I handed her over to her distracted husband, and then I rather think I fainted myself. I know I found myself in my own bar, with people pouring whisky down my throat. And after a while they cleared off, leaving Clavering alone with me. He began to stammer out his thanks, and I cut him short. “‘No thanks are due to me,’ I said. ‘They’re due to another man whom you called a card-cheat—but who was a bigger man than either you or I are ever likely to be.’ “‘Was?’ he said, staring at me. “‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘He’s dead.’ “He stood there silently for a moment or two; then with a queer look on his face he took off his hat. “‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘He was a bigger man than me.’” Merton got up and pressed the bell. “I’ve never seen him from that day to this,” he said, thoughtfully. “I never saw his wife again until to-night. And I’ve never filled in the gaps in the story. Moreover, I don’t know that I want to.” A waiter came over to his chair. “You’ll join me? Two whiskies-and-sodas, please, waiter—large ones.” _Made and Printed in Great Britain._ _Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury._ TRANSCRIBER NOTES Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed. Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors occur. End of Project Gutenberg's The Dinner Club, by H. C. (Sapper) McNeile