The moonshine projected his shadow across the turf, but for all the noise he made he might have passed for a ghost.
He cautiously inserted the key he had stolen into the lock and softly turned it.
Then he passed into the building like a shadow, and the door closed behind him.
The sound of deep breathing in one corner of the surgery located the sleeping man from the West, although Clymer could not distinguish his form very well in the darkness.
But the discharged drug clerk had planned what he would do, and, now that he was inside, he started to put his scheme in practice.
“I may as well kill two birds with one stone while I’m about it,” he muttered, moving softly toward the door leading into the shop.
The place was so familiar to him that he had no difficulty in finding his way about in the gloom.
He lit a small night lamp on the prescription counter; then he took down the bottle containing chloroform, and, not finding a rag suitable for his purpose, pulled out his handkerchief and soaked it with the stuff.
Then, taking the lamp with him, he re-entered the surgery.
Gideon Prawle lay curled up like a tired man close to the window overlooking the street.