Next moment, his wits in action again, Bullard made for the table, closed the deep drawer, and threw himself on an easy chair, hissing at the gaping Lancaster, "Sit down, you fool!"
Lancaster collapsed on the couch as Caw, bearing a salver with decanters, a syphon, and glasses, entered the room.
"Your doors open quietly enough," remarked Bullard.
"Yes, sir. Mr. Craig disliked unnecessary noise." He presented the salver to Lancaster, who mixed himself a brandy and soda with considerable splutter.
While he was doing so, Bullard produced from his breast pocket a pale-green folded paper—a hotel bill, as a matter of fact—and gaily waved it, crying—"You see, we have found it, Caw, without much trouble!"
"In your pocket, sir?"
"On this chair, which I was sitting on yesterday."
"Indeed, sir! Then you are quite satisfied, sir?"
"Perfectly. By the way, Caw—no, I'll take whiskey—are you aware that the stones in that pendulum over there are worth a couple of thousand pounds?"
"If you say so, sir."