Should he go or
shouldn't he? He was a fool to believe the thing, and yet--He certainly
didn't want to die yet awhile, with Antoinette Brellier a mere handful of
yards away from him, and all the days his own to cultivate her
acquaintance in.
"You've fairly made my flesh creep with your beastly story!" he said, in
a rather high-pitched voice. "Might have reserved it until morning--after
my _debut_ in this haunt of spirits, Borkins. Consider my nerves. India's
made a hash of 'em. Get back to bed, man, and don't worry over my
investigations. I swear I won't venture out, to-night at any rate.
Perhaps to-morrow I may have summoned up enough courage, but I've no
fancy for funerals yet awhile. So you can keep your pleasant little
reminiscences for another time, and I'll give you my word of honour that
I'll do nothing rash!"
Borkins gave a sigh of relief. He passed his hand over his forehead, and
his eyes--rather shifty, rather narrow, pale blue eyes which Merriton had
instinctively disliked (he couldn't tell why)--lightened suddenly.
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