'Was it gorn or not ?' he wondered.
He crept along on tiptoe towards Owen's room, glancing left and right, the trowel in his hand, and looking like a stage murderer.

'Do you think it's gorn ?' he asked in a hoarse whisper when he reached Owen's door.
'I don't know,' replied Owen in a low tone.
Philpot wondered.

He MUST have a drink, but it would never do for Hunter to see him with the bottle: he must find out somehow whether he was gone or not.
At last an idea came.

He would go downstairs to get some more cement.
Having confided this plan to Owen, he crept quietly back to the room in which he had been working, then he walked noisily across the landing again.
'Got a bit of stopping to spare, Frank ?' he asked in a loud voice.
'No,' replied Owen.

'I'm not using it.' 'Then I suppose I'll have to go down and get some.