"That's right," said Meakim, after a pause. "He give it to you just as it is, but I never knew him to kick about it before. We're a fair field for missionary work, Mr. Holcombe, all of us--at least, some of us are." He glanced up as Carroll came back from out of the lighted room with an alert, brisk step. His manner had changed in his absence. "Some of the ladies have come over for a bit of supper," he said. "Mrs. Hornby and her sister and Captain Reese. The _chef's_ got some birds for us, and I've put a couple of bottles on ice. It will be like Del's--hey? A small hot bird and a large cold bottle. They sent me out to ask you to join us. They're in our rooms." Meakim rose leisurely and lit a fresh cigar, but Holcombe moved uneasily in his chair. "You'll come, won't you?" Carroll asked. "I'd like you to meet my wife." Holcombe rose irresolutely and looked at his watch. "I'm afraid it's too late for me," he said, without raising his face. "You see, I'm here for my health. I--" "I beg your pardon," said Carroll, sharply. "Nonsense, Carroll!" said Holcombe. "I didn't mean _that_. I meant it literally. I can't risk midnight suppers yet. My doctor's orders are to go to bed at nine, and it's past twelve now. Some other time, if you'll be so good; but it's long after my bedtime, and--" "Oh, certainly," said Carroll, quietly, as he turned away. "Are you coming, Meakim?" Meakim lifted his half-empty glass from the table and tasted it slowly until Carroll had left them, then he put the glass down, and glanced aside to where Holcombe sat looking out over the silent city. Holcombe raised his eyes and stared at him steadily. "Mr. Holcombe--" the fugitive began. "Yes," replied the lawyer. Meakim shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "Good-night, sir."