The burning cigar lay upon the carpet beside the chair, and Sir Brian took it up and tossed it into the grate. As he did so he looked searchingly into the eyes of M. Gaston. The pupils were extraordinary dilated....
“Do you feel better?” asked Sir Brian.
“Much better,” muttered M. Gaston, his face twitching nervously—“much better.”
“Are you subject to these attacks?”
“Since—I was in China—yes, unfortunately.”
Sir Brian tugged at his fair mustache and seemed about to speak, then turned aside, and, walking to the table, poured out a peg of brandy and offered it to his guest.
“Thanks,” said M. Gaston; “many thanks indeed, but already I recover. There is only one thing that would hasten my recovery, and that, I fear, is not available.”
“What is that?”
He looked again at M. Gaston's eyes with their very dilated pupils.
“Opium!” whispered M. Gaston.