. . . There was no possible danger of infection now. As for the bottle, he would throw it out of the window of the train when he was a hundred miles from Mortland Royal. He came out into the corridor once more. His face was florid and too red. Close inspection would have disclosed the curiously bruised look of the habitual inebriate. But, in his smart travelling suit of Harris tweed, with well-brushed hair, white collar and the "bird's eye" tie that many country gentlemen affect, he was passable enough. A dreamy smile played over his lips. His eyes--not quite so bloodshot this morning--were drowsed with quiet thought. As he was about to descend the stairs he turned and glanced towards a closed door at the end of the passage. It was the door of Mary's room and this was his farewell to the wife whose only thought was of him, with whom, in "The blessed bond of board and bed" he had spent the happy years of his first manhood and success. A glance at the closed door; an almost complacent smile; after all those years of holy intimacy this was his farewell. As he descended the stairs, the Murderer was humming a little tune. The two maid servants were in the hall to see him go. They were fond of him. He was a kind and generous master. "You're looking much better this morning, sir," said Phoebe. She was pretty and privileged. . . . "I'm feeling very well, Phoebe. This little trip will do me a lot of good, and I shall bring home lots of birds for you to cook. Now mind both you girls look after your Mistress well. I shall expect to see her greatly improved when I return. Give her my love when she wakes up. Don't forward any letters because I am not certain where I shall be. It will be in the Blackwater neighbourhood, Brightlingsea, or I may make my headquarters at Colchester for the three days. But I can't be quite sure. I shall be back in three days." "Good morning, sir. I hope you'll have good sport." "Thank you, Phoebe--that's right, Tumpany, put Trust on the seat first and then get up yourself--what's the matter with the dog?--never saw him so shy. No, James, you drive--all right?--Let her go then." The impatient mare in the shafts of the cart pawed the gravel and was off. The trap rolled out of the drive as Lothian lit a cigar. It really was a most perfect early morning, and there was a bloom upon the stubble and Mortland Royal wood like the bloom upon a plum. The air was keen, the sun bright. The pheasants chuckled in the wood, the mare's feet pounded the hard road merrily. "What a thoroughly delightful morning!" Lothian said to the groom at his side and his eyes were still dreamy with subtle content. CHAPTER IX A STARTLING EXPERIENCE FOR "WOG" "The die rang sideways as it fell, Rang cracked and thin, Like a man's laughter heard in hell. . . ." --_Swinburne._ It was nearly seven o'clock in the evening; a dry, acrid, coughing cold lay over London.