I think it was my valet sold me out;
anyway, they came in and took us all to Bow Street. So I've plunged on
this. It's my last chance!"
"This trip?"
"No; my family in New York. Haven't seen 'em in ten years. They paid me
to live abroad. I'm gambling on _them_; gambling on their takin' me
back. I'm coming home as the Prodigal Son, tired of filling my belly
with the husks that the swine do eat; reformed character, repentant and
all that; want to follow the straight and narrow; and they'll kill the
fatted calf." He laughed sardonically. "Like hell they will! They'd
rather see _me_ killed."
It seemed to me, if he wished his family to believe he were returning
repentant, his course in the smoking-room would not help to reassure
them. I suggested as much.
"If you get into 'trouble,' as you call it," I said, "and they send a
wireless to the police to be at the wharf, your people would hardly--"
"I know," he interrupted; "but I got to chance that. I _got_ to make
enough to go on with--until I see my family."
"If they won't see you?" I asked.
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