He leant forward with his brows on his hands and became motionless.
Presently he made a faint sound in his throat.
Isbister moved about the room with the nervousness of an inexperienced host, making little remarks that scarcely required answering.

He crossed the room to his portfolio, placed it on the table and noticed the mantel clock.
"I don't know if you'd care to have supper with me," he said with an unlighted cigarette in his hand--his mind troubled with ideas of a furtive administration of chloral.

"Only cold mutton, you know, but passing sweet.Welsh.And a tart, I believe." He repeated this after momentary silence.
The seated man made no answer.

Isbister stopped, match in hand, regarding him.
The stillness lengthened.

The match went out, the cigarette was put down unlit.