The Man Who Was Two by Fred M. White

It was not for the first time that Mallison found himself standing in the great hall at Chilstone Castle. He had been there many a time and oft in the old days when he was a boy, and the ancient family that had held sway there for over five centuries dispensed their simple hospitality to the best of their means. But they had passed away now with so many of their clan, and their place knew them no more. Mallison had known perfectly well, even in those days, that before long the castle must inevitably pass to strangers, but, so far as he could see, there was no change. Here was the massive oak, as it had been any time in the last 500 years, the armour under the big stained windows, and the faded Oriental rugs upon the floor. He took all this in more or less mechanically, for all at once he was very tired and overcome, and, just for a moment or two, it seemed to him that he was going to collapse altogether. It was not till then that he had realised how strenuous a day lay behind him, and how much more he might have to endure before daylight. Roy Gilette, in spite of that careless manner of his, seemed to know what was going on, for he put his hand under Mallison's arm.

"Here, steady on, old chap," he whispered. "Pull yourself together. I was a fool not to have remembered what you have been through. If I had thought of it we would have burgled the old man's cellar and given you a pick-me-up before we started. What you particularly need is a couple of glasses of champagne. You shall have those presently, as soon as I can lead you to the buffet without attracting attention. Are you feeling very done?"