He crossed the court rapidly, but his mouth set itself afresh
as he passed through the door-way of his own house and crossed
the bare hall.
As he mounted the well-known stairs, he received his first
indication of life in the appearance of a cat from the
second-floor rooms. At sight of him, the animal came forward,
rubbed demonstratively against his legs, and with affectionate
persistence followed him up-stairs.
Outside his door he paused. On the ground stood the usual
morning can of milk--evidence that Chilcote was not yet awake
or that, like himself, he had no appetite for breakfast. He
smiled ironically as the idea struck him, but it was a smile
that stiffened rather than relaxed his lips. Then he drew out
the duplicate key he always carried, and, inserting it
quietly, opened the door. A close, unpleasant smell greeted
him as he entered the small passage that divided the bed and
sitting rooms--a smell of whiskey mingling with the odor of
stale smoke. With a quick gesture he pushed open the bedroom
door; then on the threshold he paused, a look of contempt and
repulsion passing over his face.
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