Tumpany plunged downstairs with the suit case. Lothian screwed up the bottle in the drawer and, holding it in his hand, went to his bedroom.
He met Blanche in the corridor.
"Mistress is fast asleep, sir," the pleasant-faced girl said, "so I just put her milk on the table and came out quietly."
"Thank you, Blanche. I shall be down in a minute."
In his bedroom, Lothian poured water into the bowl upon the washstand and shook a few dark red crystals of permanganate of potash into the water, which immediately became a purplish pink.
He plunged his hands into this water, with the little bottle, now tightly stoppered again, in one of them.
For two minutes he remained thus. Then he withdrew his hands and the bottle, drying them on a towel.
. . . There was no possible danger of infection now. As for the bottle, he would throw it out of the window of the train when he was a hundred miles from Mortland Royal.
He came out into the corridor once more. His face was florid and too red. Close inspection would have disclosed the curiously bruised look of the habitual inebriate. But, in his smart travelling suit of Harris tweed, with well-brushed hair, white collar and the "bird's eye" tie that many country gentlemen affect, he was passable enough.
A dreamy smile played over his lips. His eyes—not quite so bloodshot this morning—were drowsed with quiet thought.