There he was--same chap, same clothes.

I could swear to him anywhere, and I reckon I'll have to at the inquest." Laverick's cigarette burned away between his fingers.

It seemed to him that he was no longer in the room.

He was listening to Big Ben striking the hour, he was back again in that tiny little bedroom with its spotless sheets and lace curtains.

The man on the bed was looking at him.