"Evidently Hinkes is still unaware of what has happened. Irvin hasn't
returned yet. Seton, this business is driving me mad."
He refilled his glass, and having looked in his cigarette-case, began
to ransack a small cupboard.
"Damn it all!" he exclaimed. "I haven't got a cigarette in the place!"
"I don't smoke them myself," said Seton, "but I can offer you a
cheroot."
"Thanks. They are a trifle too strong. Hullo! here are some."
From the back of a shelf he produced a small, plain brown packet, and
took out of it a cigarette at which he stared oddly. Seton, smoking
one of the inevitable cheroots, watched him, tapping his teeth with
the rim of his eyeglass.
"Poor old Pyne!" muttered Gray, and, looking up, met the inquiring
glance. "Pyne left these here only the other day," he explained
awkwardly. "I don't know where he got them, but they are something
very special. I suppose I might as well."
He lighted one, and, uttering a weary sigh, threw himself into a deep
leather-covered arm-chair. Almost immediately he was up again. The
telephone bell had rung. His eyes alight with hope, he ran out,
leaving the door open so that his conversation was again audible to
the visitor.
"Yes, yes, speaking. What?" His tone changed "Oh, it's you, Margaret.
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