During the whole operation he never spoke, though all the
while he was fully conscious of Chilcote's puzzled gaze. The
tea ready, he poured it into the cup and carried it across the
room.
"Drink this!" he said, laconically. "The fire will be up
presently."
Chilcote extended a cold and shaky hand. "You see--" he began.
But Loder checked him almost savagely. "I do--as well as
though I had followed you from Piccadilly last night! You've
been hanging about, God knows where, till the small hours of
the morning; then you've come back--slunk back, starving for
your damned poison and shivering with cold. You've settled
the first part of the business, but the cold has still to be
reckoned with. Drink the tea. I've something to say to you."
He mastered his vehemence, and, walking to the window, stood
looking down into the court. His eyes were blank, his face
hard; his ears heard nothing but the faint sound of Chilcote's
swallowing, the click of the cup against his teeth.
For a time that seemed interminable he stood motionless; then,
when he judged the tea finished, he turned slowly.
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