Outside the professional part of him, Bryce seemed to him to
be undoubtedly deep, sly, cunning--he conveyed the impression
of being one of those men whose ears are always on the
stretch, who take everything in and give little out. There
was a curious air of watchfulness and of secrecy about him in
private matters which was as repellent--to Ransford's
thinking--as it was hard to explain. Anyway, in private
affairs, he did not like his assistant, and he liked him less
than ever as he glanced at him on this particular occasion.

"I want a word with you," he said curtly. "I'd better say it
now."

Bryce, who was slowly pouring some liquid from one bottle into
another, looked quietly across the room and did not interrupt
himself in his work. Ransford knew that he must have
recognized a certain significance in the words just addressed
to him--but he showed no outward sign of it, and the liquid
went on trickling from one bottle to the other with the same
uniform steadiness.

"Yes?" said Bryce inquiringly. "One moment."

He finished his task calmly, put the corks in the bottles,
labelled one, restored the other to a shelf, and turned round.
Not a man to be easily startled--not easily turned from a
purpose, this, thought Ransford as he glanced at Bryce's eyes,
which had a trick of fastening their gaze on people with an
odd, disconcerting persistency.