The next day, Tuesday, I was very busy, hurrying forward to get down to Clapham in time for dinner in the evening. Lennard's report in the morning had been that Captain Heriot was no worse, and that Mr. Purfleet, who had paid him an early visit, said there might be no change for a week or more. In the afternoon I received a brief note from Mr. Serjeant Stillingfar, asking me to be in Russell Square the following morning by eight o'clock: he wished to see me very particularly. Knowing that when he named any special hour he meant it, and that he expected everyone who had dealings with him to be as punctual as himself, I came up to town on the Wednesday morning, and was at his house a few minutes before eight o'clock. The Serjeant was just sitting down to breakfast. "Will you take some, Charles?" he asked. "No, thank you, uncle. I have just come up from Clapham, and breakfasted before starting." "How is Mrs. Brightman going on?" "Quite well. It will be a long job, the doctors say, from something unusual connected with the fracture, but nothing dangerous." "Sit down, Charles," he said. "And tell me at once. Is Captain Heriot," lowering his voice, "in a state to be got away?" The words did not surprise me. The whole night it had been in my mind that the Serjeant's mandate concerned Tom Heriot. "No; it would be impossible," I answered. "He has to be moved gently, from bed to sofa, and can only walk, if he attempts it at all, by being helped on both sides. Three or four days ago, a vessel on the lungs broke; any undue exertion would at once be fatal." "Then, do I understand you that he is actually dying?" "Undoubtedly he is, sir. I was with him on Monday night, and saw in his face the gray hue which is the precursor of death. I am sure I was not mistaken----" "That peculiar hue can never be mistaken by those who have learnt from sad experience," he interrupted dreamily. "He may linger on a few days, even a week or so, I believe the doctor thinks, but death is certainly on its road; and he must die where he is, Uncle Stillingfar. He cannot be again moved." The Serjeant sat silent for a few moments. "It is very unfortunate, Charles," he resumed. "Could he have been got away it would be better for him, better for you all. Though, in truth, it is not I who ought to suggest it, as you well know; but sometimes one's private and public duties oppose each other." "Have you heard anything, uncle?" "I have heard from a sure source that the authorities know that Captain Heriot is in London. They know it positively: but not, I think, where he is concealed. The search for him will now commence in earnest." "It is, indeed, unfortunate. I have been hoping he would be left to die in peace. One thing is certain: if the police find him they can only let him remain where he is. They cannot remove him."