On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. The doctor and another man were by his bedside when they entered the room, and there were writing materials which had evidently been used close at hand. It was after all a momentary affair. Clearing the recess the instant after his companion, he flew to the door of the inner room, and, locking it, took out the key. ” “And leave you here alone?” he asked, in a hoarse whisper. "Something's wrong. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. A silver necklace enhanced the dusky beauty of her neck.
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