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 back so long. By the way, tell the ladies that their shipmate, the invalid gentleman, sends them his salaam. I travelled all the way here with them, knowing you'd turn up, of course."

He edged closer to the table, picked up the revolver, snapped it open, jingled the cartridges in his palm.

"You never can tell just how far to trust these word-of-honour persons, after all," he explained. "Words of honour! Anyway, good-bye, my boy."

Something in the painful movements, the downcast face, the air of defeat, evoked a kindly feeling as Owen replied:

"Good-bye. I wish you luck, Borkman, and a better pidgin."

"Don't preach," he answered with a grimace. "That's how you have always made me tired. Thanks, all the same."

He unhooked the door, went out, and closed