Catherine had risen to her feet and, without the slightest evidence of any fatigue, was leaning, tense and alert, over the tray on which his untouched whisky and soda was placed.

Her hand was outstretched.

He saw a little stream of white powder fall into the tumbler.

An intense and sickening feeling of disappointment almost brought a groan to his lips.

He conquered himself with an effort, however, opened the window a few inches, and returned to his place.
Catherine was lying back, her eyes half-closed, her arms hanging listlessly on either side of her chair.
"Is that better ?" he enquired.
"Very much," she assured him.