For a few seconds he did not speak; then:  “I don’t know that I feel like turning in yet either, sonny,” he said deliberately.

Piers made a swift movement of impatience.  His eyes seemed to grow brighter, more grimly hard.

“I’m afraid I must ask you to excuse me in any case,” he said.  “I’m going up to see if my grandfather has all he wants.”

It was defiantly spoken.  He turned with the words, almost wresting his hand free, and strode away towards the lift.

Reaching it, some sense of compunction seemed to touch him for he looked back over his shoulder with an abrupt gesture of farewell.

Crowther made no answering sign.  He stood gravely watching.  But, as the lift shot upwards, he turned aside and began squarely to ascend the stairs.

When Piers came out of his room ten minutes later with a coat over his arm he came face to face with him in the corridor.  There was a certain grimness apparent about Crowther also by that time.  He offered no explanation of his presence, although quite obviously he was waiting.

Piers stood still.  There was a dangerous glitter in his eyes that came and went.  “Look here, Crowther!” he said.  “It’s no manner of use your attempting this game with me.  I’m going out, and—­whether you like it or not, I don’t care a damn—­I’m going alone.”

“Where are you going?” said Crowther.

“To the Casino,” Piers flung the words with a gleam of clenched teeth.

Crowther looked at him straight and hard.  “What for?” he asked.

“What do people generally go for?” Piers prepared to move on as he uttered the question.

But Crowther deliberately blocked his way.  “No, Piers,” he said quietly. 
“You’re not going to-night.”

The blood rose in a great wave to Piers’ forehead.  His eyes shone suddenly red.  “Do you think you’re going to stop me?” he said.

“For to-night, sonny—­yes.”  Quite decidedly Crowther made reply.  “To-morrow you will be your own master.  But to-night—­well, you’ve had a bit of a knock out; you’re off your balance.  Don’t go to-night!”

He spoke with earnest appeal, but he still blocked the passage squarely, stoutly, immovably.

The hot flush died out of Piers’ face; he went slowly white.  But the blaze of wrath in his eyes leaped higher.  For the moment he looked scarcely sane.

“If you don’t clear out of my path, I shall throw you!” he said, speaking very quietly, but with a terrible distinctness that made misunderstanding impossible.

Crowther, level-browed and determined, remained where he was.  “I don’t think you will,” he said.

“Don’t you?” A faint smile of derision twisted Piers’ lips.  He gathered up the coat he carried, and threw it across his shoulder.

Crowther watched him with eyes that never varied.  “Piers!” he said.

“Well?” Piers looked at him, still with that slight, grim smile.