`In his room. Hobbes got his door; open and waked him up. Did he tell you?'
`Have you told him about?'
Hadley took a nervous turn about the hall. `I've told him a little. But he can't seem to grasp it; the opiate hasn't worn off. He's sitting by a fire in his room, with a dressing-gown over his shoulders, as stupid as an image. All he kept saying was, "See that my guests have refreshments."'
`What are you going to do, then?'
`I've had to send' for Dr Watson, the police surgeon. When he gets here I'll have him fix something to wake the old man up; and then' Hadley nodded grimly — ‘we'll share the duty of telling him everything."
They could hear a night wind muttering in the chimneys. Rampole thought of that portrait, the white eagle face, standing with shoulders back, in the library. And he thought again of a lonely man in a lonely house; the old war-eagle now, huddled in a dressing-gown before a low fire in his room, and counting armies in the blaze.
Hobbes emerged from the rear of the hallway.
`At Sir William's suggestion, gentlemen,' he said, `I have prepared some sandwiches and coffee in the library, and there is a decanter of whisky, if you should care for it..’
They moved slowly along the hall, back to the' library, where a bright blaze was licking up round the coal in the grate, and a covered tray stood on a side-table.
`Stay with Sir William, Hobbes,' Hadley directed. `If he wakens, come down after me. Admit the police surgeon when he arrives, and show him upstairs.'