He went out of the back door, hastened round to the front, and peeped in at the window.  Smail was sleeping on his back with his mouth open, one hand dangling over the side of the sofa.  The gas being colourless, Eves had no evidence that the experiment was working until he put his nose to the lower sill and got a faint whiff of the fetid odour. Minute after minute passed, and there was no sign that the gas was having any effect on the sleeper.  At last, however, he stirred, sniffed, and looked round the room.  Then he got up, looked under the table, under the sofa, examined his basket of provisions, turned up on end two empty beer bottles.  Seized with a fit of coughing, he made for the door, tugged at the handle, shouted, then dashed to the window, pulled back the catch, tumbled out, and ran towards the front entrance.