Furious with myself, for the subconscious distrust of her which this depression of spirits implied, I huddled the papers together and went off to bed.
CHAPTER XII
THE REAL “M. D.”
A FEW hours’ sleep enabled me to laugh much more sincerely at the thought which had sent me off to bed in a hurry, and I was reviewing the whole situation when Miralda’s brother called. He had the look of a man who had been making a night of it, and was washed out and generally sorry for himself.
“Hullo, then, I have caught you, Mr. Donnington. May I come in?”
“Of course you may,” I said as I shook hands with him, put him into an easy chair and handed him the cigarettes. “Why, did you think you wouldn’t catch me?”
He lit a cigarette and I saw that his hand shook badly.
“Eh? Oh, you’re such a busy man, aren’t you?” His hesitancy and a note in his voice suggested nervousness, as if he had been momentarily at a loss how to answer.
“Not too busy for a chat with you at any time, lieutenant.” I spoke cordially because I wished to be friendly.
“Thanks,” he said, adding after a puff or two: “You look confoundedly fit.”
“Not much the matter, I’m glad to say.”