"He would be glad to see some one he knows," added the doctor. "How are his wife and child?" "Both are injured, but not seriously. I have not told them of Russell's condition." "Is there any objection, doctor," asked Gilbert, "to my speaking to him at once?" "None at all, I think," replied the physician, and he led them to the pallet on which lay Russell, his head and shoulders swathed in bandages, and his face, where visible, extraordinarily pinched and white. The false moustache which he had worn as part of his disguise was gone, the paint had been washed from his cheeks, and Gilbert had no difficulty whatever in identifying Cooper Silwood in "James Russell." "It is he," he whispered to Hankey. Hankey peered into the face. "He is now more like that photograph you showed me," said Hankey beneath his breath to Gilbert. Gilbert went and stood over Silwood, and looked him in the eyes. The dying man evinced no surprise at seeing him, but returned Gilbert's gaze calmly. He was the first to speak. "Gilbert Eversleigh," he said in a queer voice, that had no weakness in it. "I expected you to come, but not so soon. How is it you are here so quickly? The telegram I sent by the doctor to you at the Merchants' Hotel was despatched only two hours ago." "You sent me a telegram!" said Gilbert, astonished, but not so much so as not to note Silwood knew he had been stopping at the Merchants'. "I have not received it. The reason I am here is, I was aware you were on board the express, and hearing of the accident, I came at once on the chance of speaking to you." "You knew I was on the express?" "Yes; your movements yesterday were observed." "I see," said Silwood, thoughtfully. Then he added, "Well, it does not signify now--nothing signifies any more to me!" Silwood pronounced these words in a firm voice, though strongly tinged with regret. Gilbert stood by in silence, many feelings working within him. "Nothing matters any more to me personally," continued Silwood; "but there are others of whom I must think, for they are dear to me. It was because of them, it was for their sakes, that I sent you the telegram. I asked the doctor to tell me the truth, the whole truth, about my state; and when he told me that I should not last more than two or three days, I had to consider the best course to take. What helped me to make up my mind was the certainty you had made some discovery--otherwise, I reasoned, you would not have been in St. Paul yesterday. Had this accident not occurred, and if I had been alone, I should have succeeded in baffling you; even hampered by my wife and the boy, I believe I could have managed to escape pursuit. But now I am dying, and my wife and child would soon have been hunted down when left to themselves. Therefore I resolved to ask you to come to me." Silwood paused, his breath coming a little more quickly than before. "But why?" asked Gilbert. "I wished to make a bargain with you." "To make a bargain!"