The fog had almost cleared away, but the unlighted streets were plunged in deep gloom, through which groups of late wayfarers passed dimly and melted vaguely, like ghosts in the darkness of eternity. As Colwyn was about to enter the corridor leading to his chambers, a man brushed past him in the doorway. There was something about the figure which struck the detective as familiar, and he walked quickly after him. By the light of the departing cab he saw his face. It was Nepcote. CHAPTER XXV In that swift unexpected recognition Colwyn observed that the man for whom they had been searching looked pale and worn. He stood quite still in the doorway, his breath coming and going in quick gasps. "We have been looking for you, Captain Nepcote," Colwyn said. "I am aware of that. I have been waiting to see you, but I could get nobody to answer my ring." "My man is out. You had better come upstairs to my rooms." He led the way to the lift at the end of the corridor. When they reached the rooms Colwyn switched on the electric light. Nepcote dropped wearily into a chair, and for the first time Colwyn was able to see his face clearly. He looked very ill: there could be no doubt of that. His face was haggard and unshaven, his clothing was soiled, his attitude one of utter dejection. He crouched in the chair breathing hurriedly, with one hand pressed to his right side, as though in pain. Occasionally he coughed: a short, high-pitched cough, which made him wince. "You had better drink this before you talk," Colwyn said. He handed him a glass of brandy and water. Nepcote seized it eagerly and gulped it down. "I've caught a bad chill," he said in a hoarse unnatural voice. "I couldn't carry on any longer. That's why I came to see you to-night. But I'd given up hopes. I was ringing for some time." "You came to surrender yourself?" "Yes; I am fed up--absolutely. I was a fool to bolt. I've had a horrible time, sleeping out of doors and in verminous lodging-houses, with the police after me at every turn. I stuck it as long as I could, but to-day I was ill, and when I saw a policeman watching the lodging-house where I meant to sleep to-night I felt that I had to give in." "Why have you come to me instead of going to the police?" "I thought I would get more consideration from you. I know you are searching for Mrs. Heredith's necklace. Here it is." He drew from his pocket a small parcel wrapped in dirty tissue paper, and put it on the table. The untidy folds fell apart, exposing the missing necklace, but the diamond was missing from the antique clasp. "The diamond is in that," he said, placing a small cardboard box beside the pearls. "I wish I had never seen the cursed thing." "How do you come to have Mrs. Heredith's necklace?" Nepcote hesitated before replying. "I was terribly upset by Mrs. Heredith's death," he said at length. "I knew her before she married Phil Heredith. We were old friends."