"That's too like--" and he checked himself.
Feversham, however, completed the sentence.
"That's too like Wilmington," said he, quietly, recalling the story
which his father had told so many years ago, and which he had never
forgotten, even for a single day. "But Wilmington's end will not be
mine. Of that I can assure you. I shall not stay in London."
He spoke with an air of decision. He had indeed mapped out already the
plan of action concerning which Lieutenant Sutch was so disturbed.
Sutch, however, was occupied with his own thoughts.
"Who knows of the feathers? How many people?" he asked. "Give me their
names."
"Trench, Castleton, Willoughby," began Feversham.
"All three are in Egypt. Besides, for the credit of their regiment they
are likely to hold their tongues when they return. Who else?"
"Dermod Eustace and--and--Ethne."
"They will not speak."
"You, Durrance perhaps, and my father."
Sutch leaned back in his chair and stared.
"Your father! You wrote to him?"
"No; I went into Surrey and told him."
Again remorse for that occasion, recognised and not used, seized upon
Lieutenant Sutch.
"Why didn't I speak that night?" he said impotently.
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