"One moment." He finished his task calmly, put the corks in the bottles, labelled one, restored the other to a shelf, and turned round.

Not a man to be easily startled--not easily turned from a purpose, this, thought Ransford as he glanced at Bryce's eyes, which had a trick of fastening their gaze on people with an odd, disconcerting persistency.
"I'm sorry to say what I must say," he began.

"But--you've brought it on yourself.

I gave you a hint some time ago that your attentions were not welcome to Miss Bewery." Bryce made no immediate response.

Instead, leaning almost carelessly and indifferently against the table at which he had been busy with drugs and bottles, he took a small file from his waistcoat pocket and began to polish his carefully cut nails.
"Yes ?" he said, after a pause.