Mallaig sat on at the table for a few moments more feeling vaguely uncomfortable. He had liked Ross Lane: there was something about him which was both sensible and sympathetic; he had a very pleasant voice and the easy confident way which is a characteristic of all successful doctors. Mallaig’s feeling of discomfort was due to the doctor’s rather abrupt termination to their talk. He had not said “Are you going my way?” or waited for Mallaig to get up and accompany him out of the grill room: neither had he said “I hope we’ll meet again”—a very usual termination to a chance meeting which had given pleasure to both parties. “Does he believe I did it?” Mallaig asked himself the question uncomfortably, and then poured himself out another cup of coffee and sat pondering deeply, oblivious of the
