It was the sound of bare feet on carpet.
Through his lashes Guy Oscard saw his father standing on the hearthrug within two yards of him.

There was something strange, something unnatural and disturbing, about the movements of the man that made Guy keep quite still--watching him.
Upon the mantelpiece the medicine bottles were arranged in a row, and the "eccentric Oscard" was studying the labels with a feverish haste.
One bottle--a blue one--bore two labels: the smaller, of brilliant orange colour, with the word "Poison" in startling simplicity.

He took this up and slowly drew the cork.

It was a liniment for neuralgic pains in an overwrought head--belladonna.

He poured some into a medicine-glass, carefully measuring two tablespoonsful.
Then Guy Oscard sprang up and wrenched the glass away from him, throwing the contents into the fire, which flared up.