And then, to ensure there being a prisoner, I saw that all the
chambers of my revolver were loaded and put it in my coat pocket ready
to my hand.
The afternoon dragged on, the wind still blustering round the house and
the hail now and then rattling on the windows; but no Dr. Rendall
appeared. Tea time arrived and still no sign of him. I gave him half an
hour's grace and then had my own tea and returned to the smoking-room.
The evening by this time had fallen and the curtains were drawn and the
lamps lit.
And then at last I heard him enter the front door. I jumped up and, with
a dramatic instinct for taking the centre of the stage, placed myself
before the fire, but I heard him run upstairs and it was some minutes
before the sound of his descending steps reached me. The moment the door
opened I was conscious that one of those peculiar changes I had so often
noticed had taken place in the man. He smiled at me, but with a curiously
furtive eye, and then he shut the door and came forward.
"You have had tea, I hope," said he.
I wasted no time in preliminaries. Keeping my right hand closed over the
revolver in my pocket I held out the pocket book with my left.
"Dr. Rendall," I said, "you have heard that Bolton's pocket book has been
found. Here it is. Kindly look at that entry."
The man started perceptibly and stared at me.
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