As it is, I was afraid I would be late.

Pardon me if I take the liberty of helping myself; one gets a chill in wet clothes so easily"-- he passed to the liqueur stand, poured out a generous portion from one of the decanters, and tossed it off.
Mittel neither spoke nor moved.

Stupefaction, surprise, and a very obvious regard for Jimmie Dale's revolver mingled themselves in a helpless expression on his face.
Jimmie Dale set down his glass and pointed to a chair in front of the desk.
"Sit down, Mr.Mittel," he invited pleasantly.

"It will be quite apparent to you that I have not time to prolong our interview unnecessarily, in view of the possible return of the police at any moment, but you might as well be comfortable.

You will pardon me again if I take another liberty"-- he crossed the room, turned the key in the lock of the door leading into the hall, and returned to the desk.