Chilcote had had
intellect, education, opportunity, and Chilcote had
deliberately cast them aside. Fortifying himself in the
knowledge, he turned from the window and moved slowly back to
the bed.
"Look here," he began, "yon wrote for me last night--" His
voice was hard; he had come to fight.
Chilcote glanced up quickly. His mouth was drawn and there
was anew anxiety in his eyes. "Loder!" he exclaimed, quickly.
"Loder, come here! Come nearer!"
Reluctantly Loder obeyed. Stepping closer to the side of the
bed, he bent down.
The other put up his hand and caught his arm. His fingers
trembled and jerked. "I say, Loder," he said, suddenly, "I
--I've had such a beastly night--my nerves, you know--"
With a quick, involuntary disgust Loder drew back. "Don't you
think we might shove that aside?" he asked.
But Chilcote's gaze had wandered from his face and strayed to
the dressing-table; there it moved feverishly from one object
to another.
"Loder," he exclaimed, "do you see--can you see if there's a
tube of tabloids on the mantel-shelf--or on the dressing-table?"
He lifted himself nervously on his elbow and his eyes wandered
uneasily about the room.
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