When they came upstairs again Mr. Verinder was still sitting at the table.
“Do you think Dyke had been drinking?” he asked, tapping with the paper knife.
“No, I don’t think so,” said Eustace.
“He didn’t smell of alcohol,” said Gussie, “when I stooped over him on the sofa.”
“That makes it all the worse,” said Mr. Verinder, stonily.
“Thank goodness,” said Eustace, “that mother and Emmeline didn’t come back before we had got rid of him.” And he lit a cigarette with fingers that trembled.
After this they had a plain perception of the force they were up against. As Mr. Verinder looked at the imposing façade of the house, he felt that, solid as he had always considered it to be, it afforded a frail protection. He sighed as he drove away from it—his menaced stronghold, his undermined fortress.
He went once again to see Mr. Williams in Spring Gardens, but without any hope that Mr. Williams would be able to help him.
“What can one do?”
Mr. Williams seemed to think that one could do nothing.