"What then?"
He shrugged his shoulders and sighed lightly, almost with relief, as
though for him the prospect held no terror.
"Then it's 'Good night, nurse,'" he said. "And I won't be a bother to
anybody any more."
I told him his nerves were talking, and talking rot, and I gave him the
sleeping-draft and sent him to bed.
It was not until after luncheon the next day when he made his first
appearance on deck that I again saw my patient. He was once more a
healthy picture of a young Englishman of leisure; keen, smart, and fit;
ready for any exercise or sport. The particular sport at which he was so
expert I asked him to avoid.
"Can't be done!" he assured me. "I'm the loser, and we dock to-morrow
morning. So to-night I've got to make my killing."
It was the others who made the killing.
I came into the smoking-room about nine o'clock. Talbot alone was
seated. The others were on their feet, and behind them in a wider
semicircle were passengers, the smoking-room stewards, and the ship's
purser.
Talbot sat with his back against the bulkhead, his hands in the pockets
of his dinner coat; from the corner of his mouth his long
cigarette-holder was cocked at an impudent angle.
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