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Updated: May 23, 2025
Scarcely had he sorted his notes and drawn his chair to Chilcote's desk than Renwick entered the room with the same air of important haste that he had shown on a previous occasion. "A letter from Mr. Fraide, sir. But there's no answer," he said, with unusual brevity. Loder waited till he had left the room, then he tore the letter open.
He's waiting for an answer, sir." Loder rose and took the letter, a quick thrill of speculation and interest springing across his mind. During his time of banishment he had followed the political situation with feverish attention, insupportably chafed by the desire to share in it, apprehensively chilled at the thought of Chilcote's possible behavior.
Loder felt something within his own consciousness stir in response. "You know you are yielding," he said. Again she blushed. He saw the blush, and knew that it was he his words, his personality that had called it forth. In Chilcote's actual semblance he had proved his superiority over Chilcote. For the first time he had been given a tacit, personal acknowledgment of his power.
You aroused it by your words but more strongly, though more obscurely, by your underlying antagonism. On that night, though I did not know it, I took up my position I made my determination. Do you know what that determination was?" She shook her head. "It was the desire to stamp out Chilcote's footmarks with my own to prove that personality is the great force capable of everything.
He and the book were cooperators in the fraud, it seemed. He felt an inclination to wink back. Nevertheless, he opened it with proper gravity and skimmed the pages. The page devoted to the day was almost full. On every other line were jottings in Chilcote's irregular hand, and twice among the entries appeared a prominent cross in blue pencilling.
"Foggy night, constables," he said, with elaborate carelessness. "Foggy night, sir, and thickening up west," responded the man. "Ah, indeed!" Chilcote's answer was absent. The constable's cheery voice jarred on him, and for the second time he was conscious of senseless irritation. Without a further glance at the man, he slipped out into the court-yard and turned towards the main gate.
Chilcote's new valet responded. "Pull those curtains, Renwick!" he said. "What's the time?" He had passed the ordeal of Renwick's eyes the night before. The man was slow, even a little stupid. He drew back the curtains carefully, then looked at the small clock on the dressing-table. "Eight o'clock, sir. I didn't expect the bell so early, sir." Loder felt reproved, and a pause followed.
From previous confidences of Chilcote's he knew the amount of morphia contained in each tabloid, and realized that five tabloids, if not an absolutely dangerous, was at least an excessive dose, even for one accustomed to the drug.
Lillian Astrupp, with her unattested evidence and her ephemeral interest, gave him no real uneasiness; but Chilcote and Chilcote's possible summons were matters of graver consideration; and there were times when they loomed very dark and sinister: What if at the very moment of fulfilment ? But invariably he snapped the thread of the supposition and turned with fiercer ardor to his work of preparation.
Loder was silent for a second, then he too laughed Chilcote's short, sarcastic laugh. "And you tied up the wound, I suppose?" She glanced up, half displeased. "We were both staying at the little inn," she said, as though no further explanation could be needed. Then again her manner changed. She moved imperceptibly nearer and touched his right hand.
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