He opened the gate, clasped Baltazar round the waist, and supported him down the drive. Soon an old gardener came up and lent a hand, and between them they carried the half-fainting Baltazar into the house and laid him on a couch in the dining-room. The host poured out a stiff brandy and soda.
“Here, drink this.”
The cool bubbling liquid was a draught of Paradise to Baltazar’s parched throat. The unaccustomed stimulant, after a few moments, had its bracing effect.
“Now, what’s it all about? You remember me, don’t you? Pillivant’s my name. Came to call about eighteen months ago, and you turned me down. Anyhow that’s forgotten. I don’t bear malice, especially when a chap seems down and out. What can I do for you?”
Baltazar said: “There was an explosion last night. It knocked me out. I wo
