There was a silence.

It seemed tolerably reasonable, put like that—­at least, it seemed consistent with what appeared to the three to be the amazing unreason of all Frank’s proceedings.  They hesitated, and were lost.

“Will you swear not to clear out of Hackney Wick before we’ve seen you again?” demanded Jack hoarsely.

Frank bowed his head.

“Yes,” he said.

The clergyman and Dick were consulting in low voices.  Jack looked at them with a wild sort of appeal in his face.  He was completely bewildered, and hoped for help.  But none came.

“Will you swear—­” he began again.

Frank put his hand suddenly on his friend’s shoulder.

“Look here, old man.  I’m really rather done up.  I think you might let me go without any more—­”

“All right, we agree,” said Dick suddenly.  “And—­”

“Very good,” said Frank.  “Then there’s really no more—­”

He turned as if to go.

“Frank, Frank—­” cried Jack.

Frank turned and glanced at him, and then went on.

“Good-night,” he cried.

And so they let him go.

They watched him, in silence, cross the road by the “Queen’s Arms” and pass up the left-hand pavement.  As he drew near each lamp his shadow lay behind him, shortened, vanished and reappeared before him.  After the third lamp they lost him, and they knew he would a moment later pass into Turner Road.

So they let him go.

(V)

Mr. Parham-Carter’s room looked very warm and home-like after the comfortlessness of the damp lamp-lit streets.  It was as has already been related:  the Madonna, the prints, the low book-cases, the drawn curtains, the rosy walls, the dancing firelight and the electric lamp.

It was even reassuring at first—­safe and protected, and the three sat down content.  A tray with some cold meat and cheese rested on the table by the fire, and cocoa in a brown jug stood warming in the fender.  They had had irregular kinds of refreshments in the Men’s Club at odd intervals, and were exceedingly hungry....

They began to talk presently, and it was astonishing how the sight and touch of Frank had cheered them.  More than one of the three has confessed to me since that a large part of the anxiety was caused by his simple absence and by imaginative little pictures of street accidents.  It would have been so extremely ironical if he had happened to have been run over on the day on which he became Lord Talgarth.

They laid their little plans, too, for the next day.  Dick had thought it all out.  He, Jack and Frank were to call at the lawyers’ office in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and leave a message, as the office would be closed of course, immediately after the wanderer had been dressed properly in ready-made clothes.  Then they would catch the early afternoon train and get to Merefield that night.  The funeral could not possibly take place for several days:  there would have to be an inquest.