He came into the room walking quickly.

As the door swung back, he turned round as though to assure himself that he was not being followed.

He did not at first see Tavernake.

He sat on the arm of an easy-chair, his hands in his pockets, his eternal cigar in the corner of his mouth, his eyes fixed upon the doors through which he had issued.
Without a doubt, something had disturbed him.

He had the look of a man who had received a blow, a surprise of some sort over which he was still ruminating.