“It’s a-working,” muttered the man. “Hope I didn’t give him too much.”
He glanced at the bright blue and scarlet figure again, and then, drawing a deep breath he once more moved towards the door of his office, where he stopped inside watching.
“Why, it’s like giving him the jumps,” he muttered. “Well, if it do go wrong, I ain’t done nothing. It’s the drink. He must ha’ been having it heavy before he came here; and if that won’t do, I’m blest if I’m going to stand the racket all alone.”
He stood watching his victim for quite ten minutes, during which time the drug he had administered, one of whose properties as a trainer and veterinary surgeon he was well aware, was working with wonderful rapidity; and this was accelerated suddenly by Sir Hilton’s action, for to the trainer’s great delight, the poor fellow gave a lurch which brought him near the little table, where he recovered himself, saw the bottle and glass, and seized the former with his left hand.
“Dry—thirsty!” he said hurriedly; and making an effort he poured out another glass of wine, drained it, and was in the act of setting down the glass when Granton came hurrying in, and Simpkins drew back out of sight.
Chapter Eighteen.
How the Bees Swarmed.
“Ah, Hilt, old chap, there you are! Lady T. says you must come at once, and—Hang it, man, don’t do that!”