As instructed by the detective, Hersham duly called at the Red Star only to be informed that Mrs. Boazoph was dangerously ill, and could not see him. This he reported to Fanks, and at first the detective deemed the illness an excuse to postpone the interview, the more especially as Dr. Turnor was the medical man in attendance. He mistrusted Turnor as much as he did Binjoy, and thought that the former had persuaded Mrs. Boazoph to relinquish the idea of seeing and confiding in Hersham. Such confidence might prove as fatal to Turnor as to Binjoy; and if so there was no doubt that Turnor had compelled Mrs. Boazoph to hold her tongue lest she should compromise him. Thus Fanks argued out the situation; and he sought Tooley's Alley to ascertain if Mrs. Boazoph was really ill, or merely feigning at the order of Turnor. A view of the sick woman showed him plainly that he was wrong. Mrs. Boazoph was laid on a bed of sickness, incapable almost of speech, and Fanks concluded promptly that there was no chance of learning anything until she recovered. The result of the last interview had shaken her terribly, and she was thoroughly worn out with nervous prostration. Turnor, more like a ferret than ever, eyed Fanks complacently, and seemed relieved that things were going so badly for the case. Fanks questioned him, but could learn nothing definite, for, if the detective was clever, the doctor was cleverer, and defeated Fanks on every point. Indeed, he carried the war into the camp of the enemy. "I suppose I am right in ascribing this illness to you, sir," he said, with a sly smile. "It seems that my patient fainted at her last interview she had with you." "She did. I said something which startled her." "That was very wrong of you, Mr. Fanks. Mrs. Boazoph is a woman of delicate organisation, and a sudden shock might bring about her death. She has a weak heart." "I am sorry to hear so, sir," retorted Fanks, gloomily. "I counted on gaining some information from her. Do you think she will soon recover?" "Not for some time," said Turnor, in a satisfied tone. "I presume you wish to learn something from her, relative to the case you have in hand?" "You are quite right. I do wish to learn something relative to the murder which took place in this hotel. But if Mrs. Boazoph cannot tell me what I wish to know, you may be able to do so." Dr. Turnor spread out his hands in a deprecating manner. "I, my dear friend," he said, "what can I know about the case?" "As much as Dr. Renshaw could tell you," retorted Fanks, fixing Turnor with his keen eye. "Dr. Renshaw told me nothing, because he knew nothing." "I have my own opinion about that, Dr. Turnor." "Really; I thought you were satisfied that my friend had nothing to do with the matter. He went to India, you know." "Are you sure he went to India, Dr. Turnor?" "Oh, yes; he will be soon be at Bombay. I got a letter from him at Aden, where he changed into the 'Clyde.'"