"Outside!"

The word came from Violet Forster as if it were an echo. Turning, she made a wavering and, as it seemed, almost involuntary movement towards the door; then, as if suddenly remembering, shrank back and went all red. If there were any there who smiled, it was with sympathy; as if they saw how, even against her will, the girl's heart was being drawn towards the man who was on the other side of the door.

It was Major Reith who spoke, and it seemed with unnecessary sternness.

"Do you mean that Sydney Beaton is in the building? How do you know it?"

The reply was simple.

"He promised me that he would come."

"Promised you? When?"

"He came with me as far as the barracks. I'm afraid I'm not yet very good at getting about alone, but I shall be all right soon; he knew what I was coming for, and he promised me he would wait, and that, if he heard nothing, in about half an hour he would come in."

The girl asked an eager question.

"Was he in a taxicab? There was one waiting as I came in, by the pavement a little way down--I passed it. It was open; there was a man sitting inside whom I had the strangest feeling that I knew, although it was dark and I could not see; perhaps it was Sydney."

"I shouldn't wonder. He said he'd wait in the cab; but he ought to be here by now."

Facing round, Frank Clifford, as it were, addressed the meeting:

"Gentlemen, shall I go out and see if Sydney Beaton is still waiting in the cab?" There was an instant chorus of affirmatives. He turned to Violet. "Miss Forster, with your permission I will go and ask Mr. Beaton to do us the favour to come in here."

"I--I shall be very glad to see him."

"So shall we." He opened the door, but he was not yet through it when he broke into exclamations. "Why, Beaton, you're a sight worth seeing. I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you. We have only just heard from Draycott that you were outside; I'm acting as a deputation to ask you to come in. Gentlemen, Captain Beaton."

Sydney Beaton appeared in the doorway of the room from which, when he was last in it, he had been thrown out. There was a great difference between that man and this; so great that all those who were there, who had known the man that was so well, looked at him and wondered, and were ashamed. The few months which had elapsed since they had seen him last might have been years, so much was he changed; it needed the evidence of their own eyes to assure them that in so short a space of time a man could have so aged. The Sydney Beaton they had known was young, debonair, careless, incapable of looking seriously upon either life or death. This man was serious above and before all else; the burden of life weighed heavily on him; he was hollow-eyed; great lines seamed both his cheeks and forehead; his hair was grey; he had become an old man.

Their surprise at his appearance hushed them into silence. Beaton, as if not knowing what to make of their speechlessness, seemed disposed to draw back. But Draycott reassured him.

"It's all right, old man, I've told them; they know all about it; I think the sight of you has rather bowled them over."

Then they did speak, and the first was Jackie Tickell.

"Beaton, of course you can knock me down and jump on me if you like; I shan't say a word if you do, but it's an absolute fact that I never really doubted you; I knew you were a white man, although I did treat you like a pig. You know that pool--there was a pot of money in that pool--I haven't touched a farthing of it from that day to this, although there have been times when I've badly wanted it, but I knew all along that it was yours. I handed it over to the keeping of the mess--they'll tell you all about it; we've got it all right. And I say, you chaps, here's an idea. What do you say to giving Beaton a feed, a real tip-topper, and, at it, presenting him with the pool, as a--you know--not as a testimonial, but you know what I do mean?"

They laughed at Tickell as they crowded round Beaton. Major Reith spoke.

"Beaton, I have done you a serious injustice; how serious I did not realise until now--that I see you. I am more--more ashamed than I can tell you; to ask your pardon is to do nothing. Can you ever forgive me? I shall never be able to forgive myself; my punishment will be as great as yours."

Then Beaton spoke.

"Reith, I hope not; you don't know what my punishment has been."

"Looking at you, I can guess."

"I suppose you can; I believe it's printed pretty plain."

There came a chorus from the others--all asking for pardon.

"We didn't understand each other, that was what it was," said Beaton. "You never could have done what you did if we had. Yet I'm not sure that the lesson I've been taught wasn't worth learning even at the price I paid. I'm not the man you knew. I can see by the look that's on your faces that you've found that out for yourselves. I shall never be that man again; but don't take to yourselves any blame for that. I wouldn't, if I could."

"Will you also forgive me, Beaton? I admit that I, too, may have been mistaken."

This was Anthony Dodwell; there was something in the eyes which looked at him out of their hollow caverns which seemed to make him shrivel up.

"In your case it's not a question of forgiveness. You see, Dodwell, I know you. Since I was last in this room I've been in some strange company; I've met one or two men like you, and I haven't liked them. I know how you treated me; I saw how you treated Draycott that night at Avonham; you would treat me, and Draycott, exactly the same again tomorrow--if you had the chance. You can't like the man whom you know is that kind of person; you avoid him, if you can; you are on your guard against him, if you can't. If you are even superficially sorry for what you did to me you will take care that I never see or hear of you again. I am afraid that's as far as I'm prepared to go."

"And that's quite far enough. Now, Dodwell, you have our unanimous permission to do what you were so anxious to do at first--go."

Frank Clifford held the door wide open, with a significance it was impossible for the other to misunderstand. Anthony Dodwell showed how plainly he did understand by marching through it without a word.

Miss Forster had drawn back as Beaton entered the room, so that she had been behind him, where she had stayed. Now she came forward and touched him on the arm.

"Sydney!"

He was silent; he did not even pronounce her name; he took the hand which she offered, and bowed his head before her. Frank Clifford said:

"Miss Forster, I trust that I am neither presumptuous nor impertinent in suggesting that I think it possible that you are not over-anxious to stay with us much longer; if that is the case--I don't know how to put it, but--if you'd like to take Beaton with you, you can."