"Are you his brother?" asked the Doctor, seeing how cut-up the visitor looked. "Not that I detect any likeness." "No, I am not his brother; or any other relative. Do you consider it a hopeless case, Dr. Cavendish?" "I have not said that. I should not be justified in saying it. In fact, I have not yet formed a positive opinion on the case, and cannot do so until I shall have examined further into it. All I say at present is, that I do not like the symptoms." "And--if the symptoms turn out to be what you fear; to threaten the malady you speak of--what then?" "Why then there will be very little hope for him." "You are going over to him again, then?" "Of course. To-morrow. He is not in a state to be left without medical attendance." "How long do you think it has been coming on, doctor?" "I cannot tell you that. Not less than a twelvemonth, if it be what I fear." Mr. Strange played with his watch-chain. He wanted the description of the man yet--though, in fact he felt so sure as hardly to need it, only that detectives do not leave anything to chance. "Would you mind telling me what you think of his looks, Dr. Cavendish?" "Oh, as to his looks, they are the best part about him. His face is somewhat worn and pallid, but it is a very handsome face. I never saw a nicer set of teeth. His hair and short beard seem to have gone grey prematurely, for I should scarcely give him forty years." "He is only five-and-thirty," spoke the detective, thinking of Salter. And that, as the reader may recall, was also about the age of Sir Adam. "Only that? Then in looks he has prematurely aged." "In his prime, say two or three years ago, he was as good-looking a man as one would wish to see," observed the detective, preparing to give a gratuitous description of Salter. "A fine, tall, upright figure, strongly-built withal; and a pleasant, handsome, frank face, with fine dark eyes and hair, and a colour fresh as a rose." "Ay," acquiesced the physician: "I only saw him in bed, and he is now much changed, but I should judge that would be just the description that once applied to him. You seem to hint at some great trouble or sorrow that he has gone through: he gives me just that idea. Of what nature was it?--if I may ask." "It was trouble that was brought on by himself--and that is always the most trying to bear. As to its nature--you must pardon me for declining to particularise it, Dr. Cavendish, but I am really not at liberty to do so. Do not put the refusal down to discourtesy. It is not yet over: and the chances are that you will certainly hear all about it in a day or two." Dr. Cavendish nodded. He assumed the words to imply that the patient himself would enlighten him. As to the detective, his mission was over; and well over. He had learnt all he wanted: what he had suspected was confirmed. "That beautiful young woman, living alone at the Maze--what relative is she of his?" asked the doctor, as his visitor rose and took up his hat.