Having ascertained by the breathing which room Thames occupied, he speedily contrived to fasten him in. But I never betray an old customer. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. The room was dark and dusty. “You decline to help us in any way, then,” he said. The word "criticism" had no concrete meaning to her then; no more than "compromise. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment.
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