He fixed up a list of the days till June 15th, and ticked each off with a red pencil, making remarks in shorthand against them.

I would find him sunk in a brown study, with his sharp eyes abstracted, and after those spells of meditation he was apt to be very despondent.
Then I could see that he began to get edgy again.

He listened for little noises, and was always asking me if Paddock could be trusted.
Once or twice he got very peevish, and apologized for it.

I didn't blame him.

I made every allowance, for he had taken on a fairly stiff job.
It was not the safety of his own skin that troubled him, but the success of the scheme he had planned.