It came again. “To think that you were going to do it—and never said a word! You are a little thin, but except for that you look—you look better than ever. "In favour of my son. "Where did I hear that before?" "Perhaps that first day, in the water-clock tower. We did not know where to send … in case you died. “You are coming my way,” Courtlaw answered. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. Spurlock halted in his tracks.
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