He leaned against the doorpost and wiped his forehead.

The oppression of the atmosphere was like a tangible, crushing weight.

Behind him the paper on the wall rustled vaguely, but there was no other sound.

After several minutes he turned briskly back again into the room, whistling a sentimental ditty below his breath.
"Well, old chap, it was worth waiting for, eh?
And now, I suppose, you'll be making a bee-line for home, you lucky beggar.

I shan't be long after you, that's one comfort.