A man was sitting in the window-seat, chin in hand, looking across to the chequered fields on the slope of the downs. He was a man of thirty, with a pointed beard, and he rose as the lawyer stepped quickly into the room. "Anything wrong?" he asked. "I think he has fainted--will you go to him, doctor?" The young man passed swiftly and noiselessly to the bedside and made a brief examination. From a shelf near the head of the bed he took a hypodermic syringe and filled it from a small bottle. Baring the patient's side he slowly injected the drug. He stood for a moment looking down at the unconscious man, then came back to the big hall where James Kitson was waiting. "Well?" The doctor shook his head. "It is difficult to form a judgment," he said quietly, "his heart is all gone to pieces. Has he a family doctor?" "Not so far as I know--he hated doctors, and has never been ill in his life. I wonder he tolerated you." Dr. van Heerden smiled. "He couldn't help himself. He was taken ill in the train on the way to this place and I happened to be a fellow-passenger. He asked me to bring him here and I have been here ever since. It is strange," he added, "that so rich a man as Mr. Millinborn had no servant travelling with him and should live practically alone in this--well, it is little better than a cottage." Despite his anxiety, James Kitson smiled. "He is the type of man who hates ostentation. I doubt if he has ever spent a thousand a year on himself all his life--do you think it is wise to leave him?" The doctor spread out his hands. "I can do nothing. He refused to allow me to send for a specialist and I think he was right. Nothing can be done for him. Still----" He walked back to the bedside, and the lawyer came behind him. John Millinborn seemed to be in an uneasy sleep, and after an examination by the doctor the two men walked back to the sitting-room. "The excitement has been rather much for him. I suppose he has been making his will?" "Yes," said Kitson shortly. "I gathered as much when I saw you bring the gardener and the cook in to witness a document," said Dr. van Heerden. He tapped his teeth with the tip of his fingers--a nervous trick of his. "I wish I had some strychnine," he said suddenly. "I ought to have some by me--in case." "Can't you send a servant--or I'll go," said Kitson. "Is it procurable in the village?" The doctor nodded. "I don't want you to go," he demurred. "I have sent the car to Eastbourne to get a few things I cannot buy here. It's a stiff walk to the village and yet I doubt whether the chemist would supply the quantity I require to a servant, even with my prescription--you see," he smiled, "I am a stranger here." "I'll go with pleasure--the walk will do me good," said the lawyer energetically. "If there is anything we can do to prolong my poor friend's life----" The doctor sat at the table and wrote his prescription and handed it to the other with an apology.