When the door had closed on her, Heyton rose and began to move about the room unsteadily.

His narrow forehead was contracted, as if he were thinking deeply; his lips worked, his hands closed and unclosed in his pockets in which they were thrust, and he glanced from side to side furtively.

So might a criminal look while plotting a coup more than usually risky and dangerous.

Presently he came alongside the table on which the footman had placed the spirit-bottles and syphons.

Heyton mixed himself a stiff glass of whisky and soda, drank it almost at a draught, then nodded at the reflection of himself in the mirror opposite him.
"I think I could work it," he muttered.