“Yes, Nora Lepley knows all about it. She is at White Towers now. I want you to come back with me and straighten it out. Then we will see Grainger together. It has got to be cleared up now.”
“Yes,” I replied. “I’ll come. And, Thoyne, did you ever suffer from sleeplessness?”
“What the devil has that to do—?”
“Perhaps nothing, but did you?”
“Yes—at intervals. It is a legacy from the war, a result of being gassed. Perhaps for a fortnight I may not be able to sleep, and then it passes, and I am all right for months.”
“Do you take anything?”
“Not if I can manage without. I have a horror of drugs. But occasionally a dose of Pemberton’s Drops—”
“Have you any by you now?”
“No, I gave the last bottle to Clevedon. He looked rotten, and, I think, felt worse even than he looked. I hated the fellow, but I couldn’t help pitying him.”