Wilkinson hated Sadie. He had struck at her and injured Helen, but had plotted a harder blow. The plot had, however, miscarried, for Charnock almost forgot his pain in his fury. The fellow was a dangerous reptile, and could not be allowed to hurt Sadie by his poisonous tricks. Charnock meant to punish him, but must first overcome the insidious ally the other had counted on. He looked at his watch again. A quarter of an hour had gone; he felt stronger, and more confident. For all that, the fight was stern, and at length Festing, entering quietly, was surprised to find Charnock sitting with his watch in his hand. His brows were knit; his face looked pinched and damp.
“What are you doing, Bob?” he asked.
“Trying my strength,” said Charnock, who got up. “Three minutes yet to go, but I think we can take it that I've won.”
“I don't understand. Is this a joke?”
“Do I look as if I'm joking?” Charnock rejoined, with a forced smile. “Anyhow, I'd like you to notice that I'm perfectly sober and this bottle has not been opened, although I've sat opposite it for nearly half an hour. I'd have finished the half-hour if you had not come in.”
Festing picked up the bottle and read the writing. “Who brought the thing here?”
“I suspect Wilkinson. He knows a drink would stop the pain.”
“Ah,” said Festing quietly. “I think I understand! You have made a good fight, Bob, and I believe you've won. But we'll take precautions; it will be some satisfaction to throw out the stuff.”
He went to the door, but Charnock stopped him.
“Hold on! I mean to keep the satisfaction to myself. Give me the cursed thing!”