Neither spoke again until Larraway entered, carrying an inlaid box.

"Thank you, Larraway. You need not wait."

"Thank _you_, sir."

When they were again alone Colonel Arran unlocked and opened the
box, and, behind the raised lid, remained invisibly busy for some
little time, apparently sorting and re-sorting the hidden contents.
He was so very long about it that Berkley stirred at last in his
chair; and at the same moment the older man seemed to arrive at an
abrupt decision, for he closed the lid and laid two packages on the
cloth between them.

"Are these mine?" asked Berkley.

"They are mine," corrected the other quietly, "but I choose to
yield them to you."

"Thank you," said Berkley. There was a hint of ferocity in his
voice. He took the letters, turned around to look for his hat,
found it, and straightened up with a long, deep intake of breath.

"I think there is nothing more to be said between us, Colonel
Arran?"

"That lies with you."

Berkley passed a steady hand across his eyes. "Then, sir, there
remain the ceremonies of my leave taking--" he stepped closer,