And Kirk was alone again.
The food and the drink and the doctor’s words had a good effect. His mind became quieter. He sat down and filled his pipe. After a few puffs he replaced it in his pocket. It seemed too callous to think of smoking now. The doctor was a good fellow, but he did not understand. All the same, he was glad that he had had that whisky. It had certainly put heart into him for the moment.
What was happening upstairs? He strained his ears, but could hear nothing.
Gradually, as he waited, his mood of morbid self-criticism returned. He had sunk once more into the depths when he was aware of a soft tapping. The door bell rang very gently. He went to the door and opened it.
“I kinder thought I’d look in and see how things were getting along,” said a voice.
It was Steve. A subdued and furtive Steve. Kirk’s heart leaped at the sight of him. It was as if he had found something solid to cling to in a shifting world.
“Come in, Steve.”
He spoke huskily. Steve sidled into the studio, embarrassment written on every line of him.
“Don’t mind my butting in, do you? I’ve been walking up and down and round the block till every cop on the island’s standing by waiting for me to pull something. Another minute and they’d have pinched me on suspicion. I just felt I had to come and see how Miss Ruth was making out.”
“The doctor was down here just now. He said everything was going well.”