"This looks as though Jacques had been entertaining his friends," she said, pointing to the collection of bottles on the sideboard and the syphon and whisky decanter on the table.
"By Jove, it does!"
Roger ran his eyes over the miniature bar.
"Martini vermouth, Noilly Prat, Gordon gin, Angostura, Bacardi rum, absinthe—pre-war, at that. If your Jacques mixes all these drinks——"
"I never saw Jacques take anything except a little vin ordinaire," Esther replied, shaking her head. "But there have certainly been two people here, whoever they were, for here are their two glasses."
As she spoke she picked up the tumblers from the table one after the other and examined them thoughtfully. One, she discovered, had had only soda-water in it, there was a little in the bottom now, with a cigarette-end floating about—a cigarette with a red tip, half uncurled from the wet. She frowned at it for a moment, then went to the book-shelves in search of her books, which she discovered among a pile of medical journals.
"Here they are. Shall we go?"
Roger was examining the tumbler she had recently set down.
"Jacques also seems to have a nice taste in cigarettes," he remarked.
"Extravagant fellow altogether."
He indicated the floor, which was littered with stubs, mostly cork-tipped, though there was an occasional scarlet tip here and there.