"What other things?"
Dorothy screwed up her eyebrows, her head on one side, as if striving to find words to express what was in her mind. "His manner was strange," she began. "It is very difficult to give instances; but previously he had always been so pleasant and—and——"
"Unconscious of himself, shall we say?" suggested Sage.
"That's it," she said brightly. "He was just Mr. Dene. Afterwards he seemed to be always watching me, as if not quite sure who I was. It was almost uncanny. I thought perhaps——" She hesitated.
"What?"
"That he was being drugged," she concluded reluctantly.
"When did you first notice this?"
"Let me see," said Dorothy. "This is Tuesday. It was on Thursday morning that I first noticed it. What struck me then was that he said, 'Good morning' when he came in."
"And what did he usually say?" enquired Sage.
"He used to say 'morning,' or what really sounded more like 'morn,'" she said with a smile.