At any rate, Stringer is after him, but he's got next to nothing to go upon.
You, Stringer, appear to think that Nurse Proctor is responsible.
Sowerby stared hard, and Stringer scratched his chin, reflectively.
Stringer emptied his glass of rum, and Sowerby disposed of his stout.
"It's the rain that's doing it," said the man beside Stringer.
Even as he spoke, a drop ...