“I should hear his step a minute before he could get here,” he thought; and with the mocking face of Gellow before him, and his threat, he strode across the room, looked sharply about him, and saw that in the half-opened drawer there were a number of clean phials, each with a cork fitted loosely in.
Taking one of these quickly, he drew the cork with his teeth. Then, raising his hand, he was in the act of taking down the bottle upon which he had fixed his eye, when—
Paugh!
A hoarse, braying, trumpet-like sound of stentorian power, and he started away as if he had received a blow.
“Only a confounded steam tug,” he muttered, with his face glistening with perspiration; and taking down the bottle he removed the stopper, half filled the phial, replaced the stopper and bottle, safely corked the phial, and, trembling violently now, placed the stolen liquid in his breast, just as he heard a step outside.
Quick as his trembling hands would allow him to act, he struck a light, re-lit his cigar, and sank back in his chair with a sigh of relief as the steps came nearer and nearer; still he suffered an agony of apprehension lest the doctor on his entrance should notice his agitation.
“So easy to plan and act,” thought Glyddyr, as he listened, “but so hard to retain one’s nerve.”
Another five minutes would have enabled him to recover himself, but the steps were already at the door; and as he drew in a long breath and lay back, closing his eyes, his cigar between his fingers hanging over the arm of his chair, and his head on one side in a very bad imitation of one asleep, the steps passed on.
A false alarm.
Glyddyr breathed more freely. He had time to glance round and see that he had done nothing to betray himself; the bottle was replaced, he had spilled nothing, and the phial was safe in his pocket.