At last Peter drew up a chair, dusted it, and with wave of the hand invited me to be seated.
I ate as slowly as possible, while he stood over me, anticipating my every want.

I endeavored to converse on commonplace topics, hoping thus to kill time, and possibly lead him to some word of guidance, but his answers were monosyllables, most respectfully uttered, and meaningless.
As he passed back and forth about the table his face remained vacant of expression, his eyes devoid of intelligence.

He might have been a wax figure, so mechanically did he operate, and the sentinel never for an instant relaxed his scrutiny.
I had picked up almost the last crumb, toying with it in desperation, when a voice spoke apparently from the head of the stair.

The Ranger turned his head to answer, and at the instant a paper pellet was crushed into my hand.

Instinctively my fingers closed over it, and as the guard turned back again, gruffly ordering us to hurry up, Peter was at the opposite side of the table gathering up the dishes, his bald head shining brilliantly, his eyes as dull as those of a fish.