He slumped into a wicker chair at one end of the porch and sat with his chin resting on his chest while he smoked cigarette after cigarette and tossed the butts idly over the rail.

More than once he pressed his hand against his lips as though there were sudden pains there.

The colour did not come back to his face; it continued as bloodless as ever, but there was a ponderable light in his eyes, and his jaws became more and more firmly set.

It was not a pleasant face to watch at that moment, for he seemed to sit with a growing resolve.
Long moments passed before he moved a muscle, but then he heard, far away, thin, and clear, whistling from behind the hotel.

It was no recognisable tune.