acreage of property, and then there had been a rumour that Mackeller was building a town by the shore of the English Channel, which seemed an unnecessary thing to do, because from the South Foreland to Land's End there are more towns now than people to inhabit them. Mackeller had never been an effusive person regarding his own concerns, but for the last twelve months he had become as dumb as an oyster, and the young nobleman felt that somehow a chill had fallen upon their friendship, the cause of which he could only surmise, yet he felt that it was not through any conscious fault of his own. A natural shyness forbade his making any reference to this on the rare occasions when he met Mackeller; nevertheless, he experienced a gentle sorrow when he thought of the intangible estrangement that had come between two who had shared perils together. As he descended the broad, thickly-carpeted stairway of the club, he recognised Peter sitting on the leather-covered bench that ran along the side of the entrance, and Peter's head was bowed, and his shoulders bent as if a heavy burden rested upon them. Indeed, the young man sat motionless, like a very statue of dejection.
"Hello, Peter!" cried Stranleigh, placing his hand on the seated man's shoulder. The carpets in the Corinthian are very thick, and he had approached silently. "I am delighted to see you again. Where have you been keeping yourself all this while back?"
