'Any change, Douglas?--Ah, Foster, so you've come.--This is my brother, Sir Gregory, in the bed.' Hancock surveyed him through his gold-rimmed spectacles. We waited in silence for his verdict. 'Asleep?--Changed; but I should have known him anywhere. He's been a wonderful man.--How long has he been asleep?' The question was put to me. 'Perhaps five minutes.' 'I doubt if he is asleep.' This was Foster. Hancock snapped him up. 'You doubt? My dear sir, there's no room for doubt on that point. He always suffered from a weak heart; even, I remember, as a lad. Heart trouble is, I fear, at the base of the trouble now. It is part of the complaint--that the sufferer is continually falling asleep, without notice. From that sleep it is hard to rouse him. In that sleep he often passes away--as, probably, will be the case here. It would be wrong for me to say that I think there is a chance of ultimate recovery when I don't. In a medical sense his lordship is dying now.' That was Hancock. He gained his reputation by a carefully cultivated habit of jumping at conclusions. The average doctor hums and haws, and tells you nothing. Hancock neither hums nor haws, but tells you everything; or pretends to. He must have been right--or have managed to pass for right--pretty frequently, or he would hardly occupy the position which he does. He is well on the shady side of eighty--hale, hearty, and, what is surprising, still in fashion. Foster was the first to speak. 'When, Sir Gregory, may the end be expected? Lord Reginald must pardon my asking so frank a question, but, as I will explain to him later, it is of the first importance that I should know exactly what we may expect.' Reggie said nothing. Sir Gregory considered a moment. 'What is the opinion of the gentleman who is already in attendance?' I replied. 'Dr. White thinks he will not live four-and-twenty hours.' Hancock felt the patient's pulse. Opening his shirt he applied the stethoscope; tried his temperature. The sleeper never moved, or showed consciousness of what was going on. The condition of his body, as it was revealed when Hancock opened his shirt, amazed me. It was nothing but skin and bone. And such a colour. Was it possible that this was the man who yesterday had been smoking his cigar on the couch at the York Hotel? My perplexity grew apace. Hancock pronounced his opinion. 'What Dr. White says is correct. I should doubt myself if he will live through the day.' 'Can nothing be done?' asked Reggie. 'Humanly speaking, nothing. He is not dead, but he is so nearly so that he may be said to be already looking through the gates.' Hancock liked to talk like that. It was supposed that remarks of that kind had made him popular with women. Foster fidgeted. 'Sir Gregory, it is essential that the Marquis should make a will. He was in possession of all his faculties before you entered. Can nothing be done to rouse him?' Hancock shrugged his shoulders. 'What?'