Stanley called to the waiter.
"One small drink more, and I must go to bed," he said. "Up to a certain
point, I agree with you. I believe that Leslie Guest is a dying man.
Whether he stays here or goes makes little difference--very little
difference indeed to me. Your health, Mr. Courage! A farewell drink this,
I am afraid!"
I raised my tumbler to my lips, and nodded to him. Then I rose to my
feet, but almost as I did so, I realized what had happened. The floor
heaved up beneath my feet, my knees trembled, I felt the perspiration
break out upon my forehead. Through the mist which was gathering in front
of my eyes, I could see the half-curious, half-derisive glances of the
other occupants of the room; and opposite, Mr. Stanley, his eyes blinking
at me from behind his spectacles, his expression one of grieved concern.
I leaned over toward him.
"You d----d scoundrel!" I exclaimed.
After that, my head fell forward upon my folded arms, and I remembered no
more!
CHAPTER IX
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR
I sat up in bed, heavy, unrefreshed, and with a splitting headache.
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