CHAPTER XVIII The doctor reached for the key and studied it sombrely. He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. I should like to have had you forgive me. ‘Let me see if our minds are attuned. ” She gazed at him. “I trust you altogether. “It’s because I mean to send it back altogether,” she said. The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master.
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