Philip stood silent, and the old man, with another shame-stricken glance upon him, moved away. His son watched him for a second or two, as he slunk, coughing and shivering, along the gleaming pavement, and then turned and went his own way heavily. Bommaney senior, discerning the welcome beacon of a public-house, shuffled eagerly towards it, hugging beneath his rags the money his son had given him. ‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Bommaney; if you please, sir.’ He started at the sound of a voice which had been familiar to him for years. ‘I should like a word with you, sir; if you please.’ IV James Hornett was less changed than his old employer, but it was evident that he too had fallen upon evil times. For a mere second the familiar tones of his voice were no more than familiar to Bommaney, whose mind was confused by long misery and hunger and sleeplessness, and the shock of his late encounter. But when he turned and saw Hornett’s long thumb and finger scraping at his stubbly jaws, the gesture and the attitude of apology brought him back to mind at once. Hornett’s coat sleeve was torn, and showed his arm half way down to the elbow, but revealed no hint of linen, The collar of his frock-coat was buttoned tightly about his neck, and there was a sparkling metallic rime upon his cheeks and chin and upper lip. Bommaney was ashamed before him, and afraid of him, and only some faint reminder of self-respect and the pride of earlier days held him back from the impulse to run away. ‘You’re not afraid of me, sir?’ said James Hornett. He had always smiled, and was smiling even now. The smile was no more than a contortion of the muscles of the face, which made a long mirthless crease on either cheek, and left the eyes untouched by the least light of sympathy. It gave him a propitiatory dog-like look, and there was a hint of fawning in his attitude which matched it perfectly and carried out the likeness. ‘You remember me, sir?’ he went on, for Bommaney stared at him so wildly that there seemed room for reasonable doubt on that point. ‘Hornett, sir. James Hornett Your faithful servant for thirty years, sir.’ Bommaney looked at him with haggard watering eyes, and said nothing as yet ‘It’s a bit of a surprise, sir, at first, isn’t it?’ Hornett went on, with his unchanging smile. There was a good deal of hunger and even triumph in his small soul, but they found no other outward expression, and his attitude and voice were as apologetic and retiring as of old. ‘It was rather a surprise to me, sir, when I recognised you. Isn’t it a little dangerous for you to be here, Mr. Bommaney?’ They both started, and each looked about him at this mention of the fugitive’s name. ‘Hush!’ said Bommaney. ‘Don’t call me by that name. Come away from here.’