Every one felt his statement to be a lie.

For some reason or other, the man was afraid.

Arnold was conscious of a sense of apprehension stealing over him.

The touch of Fenella's fingers upon his arm left him, for a moment, cold.
Sabatini turned his head slowly towards the speaker, and his face had become like the face of an inquisitor, stern and merciless, with the flavor of death in the cold, mirthless parting of the lips.
"Then you drank a very bad brand, my friend," he declared.

"Still, even then, the worst champagne in the world should not give you those ugly lines under the eyes, the scared appearance of a hunted rabbit.