Before one of these chairs, their toes pointing upwards against the fender, were a pair of slippers; on a table close by stood an old lead tobacco-box, flanked by a church-warden pipe, a spirit decanter, a glass, and a plate on which were set out sugar and lemon--these Brereton took to be indicative that Kitely, his evening constitutional over, was in the habit of taking a quiet pipe and a glass of something warm before going to bed.

And looking round still further he became aware of an open door--the door into which Miss Pett had withdrawn--and of a bed within on which Kitely now lay, with Dr.Rockcliffe and the police-sergeant bending over him.

The other policemen stood by the table in the living-room, and one of them--the man who had picked up the pocket-book--whispered audibly to Cotherstone as he and his companions entered.
"The doctor's taking it off him," he said, with a meaning nod of his head.

"I'll lay aught it's as I say, Mr.Cotherstone." "Looks like it," agreed Cotherstone, rubbing his hands.

"It certainly looks like it, George.