He felt better physically than last night.

The few minutes of strenuous action in which he had half killed Mercer had been a pretty good test, he told himself.

It had left no bad effect, and he need no longer fear the reopening of his wound.
A dozen times he had heard a far door open and close.

Now he heard it again, and a few moments later it was followed by a sound which drew a low cry of satisfaction from him.

Dirty Fingers, because of overweight and lack of exercise, had what he called an "asthmatic wind," and it was this strenuous working of his lungs that announced his approach to Kent.