The figure rose from the bed, gathering the papers together, putting them into a drawer of the dressing-table.
It staggered a little.
"I'm drunk," came in a tired voice, from lips that were parched and dry.
With trembling hands the empty bottle was hidden, the glass washed out and replaced, the door noiselessly unlocked.
Then Lothian lurched to the open window.
It was as he had said, dawn was at hand. But a thick grey mist hid everything. Phantoms seemed to sway in it, speaking to each other with tiny doll-like squeaks.
There were no jocund noises as he crept back into bed and fell into a stupor, snoring loudly.
No jocund noises of Dawn.
CHAPTER IV