"Try, then," suggested the Frenchman. "I'll be where I can hear you if you want anything. I won't go out until Runnells gets back."
"Good enough!" agreed Captain Francis Newcombe; and then abruptly, as the Frenchman rose from his chair: "Speaking of Runnells, Paul--you will _oblige_ me by saying nothing to him of the contents of this letter."
"I will say nothing to any one, let alone Runnells," replied the Frenchman quietly. "It is already forgotten. Call, if you want anything."
The Frenchman's footsteps died away in an outer room.
Captain Francis Newcombe's fingers tightened around the letter he held in his hand, crushed it, and carefully smoothed it out again. He lay there motionless then, his face turned away from the door, his lips thinned, his under jaw outthrust a little.
"Three years in the planting!" he muttered to himself. "It has ripened well! Very well! Paul--bah! What does it matter, after all, that he read the letter? I am not sure but that he has already outlived his usefulness--and Runnells too!" He thrust the letter suddenly underneath his pillow. "Damn the infernal pain!" he gritted between his teeth. "If I could only sleep for a bit--sleep--sleep!"
And for a time he tossed restlessly from side to side, and then presently he slept.
Runnells, in response to a demand from the bedroom, brought in the luncheon tray.
"You've had a rare whack of sleep," he said, as he laid the tray down on the table beside the bed.
"What time is it?" inquired Captain Francis Newcombe.
"Three o'clock," said Runnells. "Here, sit up a bit, and I'll bolster the pillows in behind you."
"Where's Paul?" asked the ex-captain of territorials.
Runnells did not answer immediately. In arranging the pillows he had found a letter. He looked at it coolly. It ought to be worth looking at if Captain Francis Newcombe kept it under his pillow.
"Well?" snapped the ex-captain of territorials.
Runnells placed the letter on the table within easy reach beside the tray, pulled the table a little closer, and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"He went out after I got back," said Runnells. "Said he'd sleep here to-night, that's all I know. This is a bit of stew."
Runnells, with one hand presented a forkful of meat to Captain Francis Newcombe's lips, and with the other hand possessed himself of the letter again.