“By the way, sir,” Sherlaw ventured to remark, “hadn’t they given him something in the way of a sleeping-draught?”
“Eh? Indeed? I hardly think so, Sherlaw, I hardly think so. Case of reaction entirely. Good morning.”
“Congleton seems satisfied,” remarked Escott.
“I’ll tell you what,” said the junior, profoundly. “Old Congers is a very good chap, and all that, but he’s not what I should call extra sharp. I should feel uncommon suspicious.”
“H’m,” replied Escott. “As you say, our worthy chief is not extra sharp. But that’s not our business, after all.”
CHAPTER II.
“By the way,” said Escott, a couple of days later, “how is your mysterious man getting on? I haven’t seen him myself yet.”
Sherlaw laughed.
“He’s turning out a regular sportsman, by George! For the first day he was more or less in the same state in which he arrived. Then he began to wake up and ask questions. ‘What the devil is this place?’ he said to me in the evening. It may sound profane, but he was very polite, I assure you. I told him, and he sort of raised his eyebrows, smiled, and thanked me like a Prime Minister acknowledging an obligation. Since then he has steadily developed sporting, not to say frisky, tastes. He went out this morning, and in five minutes had his arm round one of the prettiest nurses’ waist. And she didn’t seem to mind much either, by George!”