A
deep agitation was at work in his mind.
Again Chilcote's lips parted. "Loder," he said, faintly
--"Loder, I must--I must have it. It's imperative." Once
more he attempted to lift himself, but the effort was futile.
Again Loder turned away.
"Loder--for God's sake--"
With a fierce gesture the other turned on him. "Good heavens!
man--" he began. Then unaccountably his voice changed. The
suggestion that had been hovering in his mind took sudden and
definite shape. "All right!" he said, in a lower voice. "All
right! Stay as you are."
He crossed to where the empty tumbler stood and hastily mixed
the whiskey and water; then crossing to the mantel-piece where
lay the small glass tube containing the tightly packed
tabloids, he paused and glanced once more towards the bed.
"How many?" he said, laconically.
Chilcote lifted his head. His face was pitiably drawn, but
the feverish brightness in his eyes had increased. "Five," he
said, sharply. "Five. Do you hear, Loder?"
"Five?" Involuntarily Loder lowered the hand that held the
tube.
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