Chauvelin felt the paper trembling in his hand. He felt strangely agitated and nervous, now that the issue was so near... so sure!...
“There's no demmed hurry for that, is there... er... Monsieur Chaubertin?...” came from the slowly wakening Sir Percy in somewhat thick, heavy accents, accompanied by a prolonged yawn. “I haven't got the demmed thing quite ready...”
Chauvelin had been so startled that the paper dropped from his hand. He stooped to pick it up.
“Nay! why should you be so scared, sir?” continued Sir Percy lazily, “did you think I was drunk?... I assure you, sir, on my honour, I am not so drunk as you think I am.”
“I have no doubt, Sir Percy,” replied Chauvelin ironically, “that you have all your marvellous faculties entirely at your command.... I must apologize for disturbing your papers,” he added, replacing the half-written page on the table, “I thought perhaps that if the letter was ready ...”
“It will be, sir... it will be... for I am not drunk, I assure you.... and can write with a steady hand... and do honour to my signature....”
“When will you have the letter ready, Sir Percy?”
“The 'Day-Dream' must leave the harbour at the turn of the tide,” quoth Sir Percy thickly. “It'll be demmed well time by then... won't it, sir?...”
“About sundown, Sir Percy... not later...”
“About sundown... not later...” muttered Blakeney, as he once more stretched his long limbs along the narrow bed.