"Well, Eustace?" she said tonelessly. "What is it now?"
He cleared his burning throat. "Who opened the door?" he asked hoarsely.
She shook her head. "I don't know," she answered. "It does n't matter—we 're ruined at last. It 's come, Eustace."
He made strange grimaces in an endeavor to clear his mind and grasp what she was saying. She watched him unmoved, and went on to tell him, in short bald sentences of the night's events.
"Dr. Van Coller will be down presently," she concluded. "He 'll want to see you, but you can lock your door if you like. He 's seen me already."
He had her meaning at last. He blinked at her owlishly, incapable of expressing the half-thoughts that dodged in his drugged brain.
"Poor old Hester," he said, at last, and turned heavily back to his study.
Mrs. Jakes smiled in pity and despair, and took up her tray again. She thought she knew better than he how poor she was.
He slammed the door behind him, but he did not trouble to lock it. Something he had seen when he opened his eyes stuck in his mind, and he went staggeringly round the untidy desk, with its bottles and papers, to where the policeman sprawled in a chair with his Punchinello chin on his breast. His loose hands retained yet the big revolver.
"He 'll come to it too," was Dr. Jakes' thought as he looked down on him. He drew the weapon with precaution from the man's hand.