He must get away somewhere, and walk. If he walked twenty miles a day for the next week sleep would return to him, he knew; walking was what his body clamoured for. It would rid him of this sick feeling, would clean his mind and body as they needed to be cleaned. Twenty miles a day, and for a week on end.
That was what he would do, tomorrow. But for this night ahead of him, in some way he must get through that. Queer, this matter of his sleep. If he were travelling, in car or train or aeroplane, he would be able to compose his mind, to rest and doze, and fall into a sleep of sorts; in bed he could not sleep without his allonal. But he could sleep in a motorcar.
And that would get him right away, and he could walk. Twenty miles a day; till he was well.
He rose and pressed the bell. He glanced at his watch; it was ten o'clock. When Evans came, he said:
'Is Donaghue about?'
'In the housekeeper's room, sir.'
'Tell him I want the car. In half an hour.'
'Very good, sir.'
'Tell him to get the tank filled up, and put some warm clothes on. I may be going a long way.'
He went up to his room and changed into an old business suit that he had bought in the United States. He put on a heavy ulster and a scarf, and gave Evans a flask to fill with brandy. These completed his preparations for the road; he looked at the contents of his notecase . He had about eighteen pounds . That, he thought, would see him through.
In the housekeeper's room Donaghue was making similar preparations, swearing a little to himself. He had no fancy for a drive of unknown length on a cold night in February.
Elsie came to him with a little packet in her hands.
'I cut you some sandwiches, Mr Donaghue,' she said, a little shyly, 'and there's a bit of seed cake. I do hope he won't keep you out too late.'
He took them gratefully, and mumbled his thanks. 'See you half-past two tomorrow, anyway,' he said. 'Even if it makes me miss my breakfast.'
She smiled at him. 'You wouldn't rather we put it off?'
'Not much. I'll be back.'
He had already brought the car to the door; he went out to it now, and Evans went into the library.
'The car is quite ready, sir.'
Warren rose slowly from his chair, in ulster and scarf. He was feeling unwell, and the prospect of a long night drive seemed less attractive to him now, but he might as well go. He would probably sleep a'little, anyway.
'All right, Evans,' he said. 'I may be away for a few days.'
The butler hesitated in surprise. 'Shall I pack a bag, sh-?'
'No thanks. I shan't want that.'
He went out to the car; although the night outside was cold he was glad to be leaving that house. Donaghue, smart in chauffeur's cap and long blue coat with silver buttons, held the door open for him; Warren got in and Evans handed in a couple of rugs. They stood for a moment then, holding open the door of the limousine.
'Where to, sir?' asked Donaghue .
'Get on the Great North Road,' said Warren absently. 'Go on till I tell you to stop.'
Evans and Donaghue exchanged glances of incomprehension. Then the chauffeur said, 'Very good, sir,' and got in to his seat; in turn he wrapped .a rug around him and the car moved off. Warren leaned forward and switched off the interior lighty and settled down in the back seat.
The car moved forward through Mayfair up Orchard Street and Baker Street, past Lord's and the Swiss Cottage on to Finchley. A light rain was falling and the streets were wet and empty; Donaghue settled to his wheel and wondered what the night would bring for him. He liked Warren, and was sorry for him; he thought that he had suffered a raw deal. Apart from that, he trusted him implicitly. At the same time, there was no denying that his master was looking mighty queer; Cook had been worried that he ate so little dinner. Maybe he would like a cup of coffee later on.
He drove out on the by-pass, shifted and relaxed into the driving seat, and set himself to the night's work.
In the rear seat of the limousine Warren lay
That was what he would do, tomorrow. But for this night ahead of him, in some way he must get through that. Queer, this matter of his sleep. If he were travelling, in car or train or aeroplane, he would be able to compose his mind, to rest and doze, and fall into a sleep of sorts; in bed he could not sleep without his allonal. But he could sleep in a motorcar.
And that would get him right away, and he could walk. Twenty miles a day; till he was well.
He rose and pressed the bell. He glanced at his watch; it was ten o'clock. When Evans came, he said:
'Is Donaghue about?'
'In the housekeeper's room, sir.'
'Tell him I want the car. In half an hour.'
'Very good, sir.'
'Tell him to get the tank filled up, and put some warm clothes on. I may be going a long way.'
He went up to his room and changed into an old business suit that he had bought in the United States. He put on a heavy ulster and a scarf, and gave Evans a flask to fill with brandy. These completed his preparations for the road; he looked at the contents of his notecase . He had about eighteen pounds . That, he thought, would see him through.
In the housekeeper's room Donaghue was making similar preparations, swearing a little to himself. He had no fancy for a drive of unknown length on a cold night in February.
Elsie came to him with a little packet in her hands.
'I cut you some sandwiches, Mr Donaghue,' she said, a little shyly, 'and there's a bit of seed cake. I do hope he won't keep you out too late.'
He took them gratefully, and mumbled his thanks. 'See you half-past two tomorrow, anyway,' he said. 'Even if it makes me miss my breakfast.'
She smiled at him. 'You wouldn't rather we put it off?'
'Not much. I'll be back.'
He had already brought the car to the door; he went out to it now, and Evans went into the library.
'The car is quite ready, sir.'
Warren rose slowly from his chair, in ulster and scarf. He was feeling unwell, and the prospect of a long night drive seemed less attractive to him now, but he might as well go. He would probably sleep a'little, anyway.
'All right, Evans,' he said. 'I may be away for a few days.'
The butler hesitated in surprise. 'Shall I pack a bag, sh-?'
'No thanks. I shan't want that.'
He went out to the car; although the night outside was cold he was glad to be leaving that house. Donaghue, smart in chauffeur's cap and long blue coat with silver buttons, held the door open for him; Warren got in and Evans handed in a couple of rugs. They stood for a moment then, holding open the door of the limousine.
'Where to, sir?' asked Donaghue .
'Get on the Great North Road,' said Warren absently. 'Go on till I tell you to stop.'
Evans and Donaghue exchanged glances of incomprehension. Then the chauffeur said, 'Very good, sir,' and got in to his seat; in turn he wrapped .a rug around him and the car moved off. Warren leaned forward and switched off the interior lighty and settled down in the back seat.
The car moved forward through Mayfair up Orchard Street and Baker Street, past Lord's and the Swiss Cottage on to Finchley. A light rain was falling and the streets were wet and empty; Donaghue settled to his wheel and wondered what the night would bring for him. He liked Warren, and was sorry for him; he thought that he had suffered a raw deal. Apart from that, he trusted him implicitly. At the same time, there was no denying that his master was looking mighty queer; Cook had been worried that he ate so little dinner. Maybe he would like a cup of coffee later on.
He drove out on the by-pass, shifted and relaxed into the driving seat, and set himself to the night's work.
In the rear seat of the limousine Warren lay
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