court-martial. The reply came from the father, a heart-broken admission
of the justice of Drake's action, and a prayer that, for the sake of
those of the family who still lived, Gorley's crime should be as far as
possible kept secret. Drake gave the promise. So far he had kept it, he
realised, as he tossed aside the last copy of the _Meteor_.

At eight o'clock Sidney Mallinson arrived. He saw Drake at the top of
the flight of steps in the vestibule, and hesitated, perceiving that he
was alone.

'Hasn't Conway come?' he asked. 'I sent to him.'

'Not yet. It's barely eight.'

They shook hands limply and searched for topics of conversation.

'You look older than you did,' said Mallinson.

'Ah! Ten years, you know. You haven't changed much.'

Drake was looking at a face distinguished by considerable comeliness. The
forehead, however, overhung the features beneath it and gave to a mouth
and chin, which would otherwise have aroused no criticism, an appearance
of irresolution. The one noticeable difference in Mallinson was the
addition of an air of constraint. It was due partly to a question which
had troubled him since he had received the invitation. Had Drake read _A
Man of Influence_ and recognised himself?

'I got your telegram,' he said at length.