Cherriton went out of the room into a bedroom with two windows, one of which looked over a deserted-looking yard, with a covered well at the further end. He stood at the window, gazing out into this yard, with puckered brows, for several minutes. Then he began to open and shut drawers in the dressing-table, making a considerable noise.
He came into the sitting-room a few minutes later and apologised to John, saying that he must have made a mistake about the tablets.
"I can find no sign of them," he said, "but you must come again, and I promise to have some for you."
John, who had been watching him closely, suddenly rose from his chair and confronted him.
"Look here, Cherriton," he demanded, "what's your game?"
Cherriton's face took on a stony expression
"What game?" he demanded.
"Why are you so deucedly restless?"
Cherriton broke into a laugh.
"It's your imagination. I am not in the least restless; I am only worried that I have dragged you here for nothing. Have another whisky?"