Lawson Hannay put his hand on his shoulder, and said, “Come along with us, Wallie,” and he wished Lawson Hannay would let him alone.  Mrs. Hannay came and stooped over him and whispered things in his ear, and he tried to rouse himself so far as to stare into her face and try to understand what she was saying.

She was saying, “Wallie, get up—­Come with us, Wallie, dear.”  And she laid her hand on his arm.  He took her hand in his, and pressed it, and let it drop.

Then Ransome said, “Why can’t you let the poor chap alone?  Let him stay if he likes.”

That was what he wanted.  Ransome knew what he wanted—­to be let alone.

He didn’t see the Hannays go.  The only thing he saw distinctly was the Canon’s large grey face, and the eyes in it fixed unpleasantly on him.  He wished the Canon would let him alone.

He was getting really too sleepy.  He would have to rouse himself presently and go.  With a tremendous effort he dragged himself up and went.  Ransome walked with him to the club and left him there.

The club-room was in an hotel opposite the pier.  He could get a bedroom there for the night; and when the night was over he would be able to think what he would do.  He couldn’t go back to Prior Street as he was.  He was too sleepy to know very much about it, but he knew that.  He knew, too, that something had happened which might make it impossible for him to go back at all.

Ransome had told the manager of the hotel to take care of him.  Every now and then the manager came and looked at him; and then the drowsiness lifted from his brain with a jerk, and he knew that something horrible had happened.  That was why they kept on looking at him.

At last he dragged himself to his room.  He rang the bell and ordered more whiskey.  This time he drank, not for lucidity, but for blessed drunkenness, for kind sleep and pitiful oblivion.

He slept on far into the morning and woke with a headache.  At twelve Hannay and Ransome called for him.  It was a fine warm day with a southerly wind blowing and sails on the river.  Ransome’s yacht lay off the pier, with Mrs. Ransome in it.  The sails were going up in Ransome’s yacht.  Hannay’s yacht rocked beside it.  Dick took Majendie by the arm.  Dick, outside in the morning light, looked paler and puffier than ever, but his eyes were kind.  He had an idea.  Dick’s idea was that Majendie should run up with him and Mrs. Ransome to Scarby for the week-end.  Hannay looked troubled as Dick unfolded his idea.

“I wouldn’t go, old man,” said he, “with that head of yours.”

Dick stared.  “Head?  Just the thing for his head,” said Dick.  “It’ll do him all the good in the world.”

Hannay took Dick aside.  “No, it won’t.  It won’t do him any good at all.”

“I say, you know, I don’t know what you’re driving at, but you might let the poor chap have a little peace.  Come along, Majendie.”