"What's the matter, Fanks?" he asked, hurriedly.
For answer, Octavius Fanks drew the pill-box from his pocket, and placing it silently on the table, pointed to the inscription on the lid:
"Wosk & Co.
Chemists, Ironfields."
[Chapter 3]
Purely Theoretical
Roger Axton stood looking at the pill-box on the table, and Octavius Fanks stood looking at Roger Axton, the former lost in a fit of painful musing (evident from his pale face, his twitching lips, his startled expression), the latter keenly observant, according to his usual habits. At last Roger with a deep sigh drew his hand across his brow and resumed his seat, while Mr. Fanks, picking up the pill-box, gave it a cheerful rattle as he followed his example.
"What a strange coincidence," he said, thoughtfully; "but I'm not astonished. This sort of thing occurs in real life as well as in novels. 'Truth is stranger than fiction.' I don't know who first made that remark, but he was a wise man, you may depend, and wonderfully observant of events before he crystallised his experience in those five words."
"It certainly is curious," replied Roger, absently, as though he were thinking of something else. "Fancy finding the name of the town where She—"
"With a large S, of course."
"Where she lives, printed on a pill-box," finished Roger, and then, after a pause: "What do you think of it, Fanks?"