A bottle, glass and siphon were placed before him, and even the taciturn Joe was somewhat astonished at the size of the drink which Stovebridge poured with shaking hand and drained at a swallow.
He followed it with a little seltzer and, pouring out another three fingers, sat back in his chair and took out a gold cigarette case.
As he selected a cigarette with some care, and held it to the cigar lighter on the table, he noticed with satisfaction that his fingers scarcely trembled at all.
“That’s the stuff to steady a fellow’s nerves,” he muttered, blowing out a cloud of blue smoke. “There’s nothing like it.”
He took a swallow and then drained the glass for the second time.
Presently his view of life became slightly more optimistic.
“It was a new cap,” he remembered with a sudden feeling of relief.
“I’ve never worn it here, and there’s an old one in my locker. All I’ve got to do is to swear I never saw it before if I’m asked about it—which isn’t likely.”
When the cigarette was finished he went into the dressing room and took a thorough wash. There was no one there but the valet, who gave his clothes a good brushing, so he had no trouble in getting the old cap out of his locker and placing it at a becoming angle on his freshly brushed hair. Then he strolled out onto the veranda.
Three or four fellows, lounging near the door, greeted him jovially as he appeared.