For an instant the sense of his tacit connivance came
to him sharply; the next, he flung it from him. The human,
inner voice was whispering its old watchword. The strong man
has no time to waste over his weaker brother!
When he heard Chilcote lay down his tumbler he looked back
again. "Well, what is it?" he said. "What have you come
for?" He strove resolutely to keep his voice severe, but, try
as he might, he could not quite subdue the eager force that
lay behind his words. Once again, as on the night of their
second interchange, life had become a phoenix, rising to fresh
existence even while he sifted its ashes. "Well?" he said,
once again.
Chilcote had set down his glass. He was nervously passing his
handkerchief across his lips. There was something in the
gesture that attracted Loder. Looking at him more attentively,
he saw what his own feelings and the other's conventional dress
had blinded him to--the almost piteous panic and excitement
in his visitor's eyes.
"Something's gone wrong!" he said, with abrupt intuition.
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