They walked down the street together.
“That smash has been coming for a long time,” said Simms—“it’s an heirloom. It’s a good thing it has come, he was getting to be a bye-word—I wonder what it is that introduces the humorous element into insanity; that address, for instance, one thousand one hundred and ninety one Walnut Street, could never have strayed into a sane person’s head.”
“Nor a luncheon on bills of exchange,” said Cavendish. “Well, he will be all right at Hoover’s. What was the dose you gave him?”
“Heroin, mostly,” replied the other. “Well, so long.”
CHAPTER XXI
HOOVER’S
Jones, after the magic draught administered by Simms, entered into a blissful condition of twilight sleep, half sleep, half drowsiness, absolute indifference. He walked with assistance to the hall door and entered a motor car, it did not matter to him what he entered or where he went, he did not want to be disturbed.
He roused himself during a long journey to take a drink of something held to his lips by someone, and sank back, tucking sleep around him like a warm blanket.