"Yes, yes! You're quite right, Gimp. I must go over and see her again; and the day's so damp. Oh, dear, dear! Close the door, please, there's such a draught." Gimp did as he was told, and retreated noiselessly from the room, after which Mr. Spolger went over all his ailments in his own mind to make sure that he had forgotten none of them, examined his tongue in the mirror, felt his pulse carefully, and having thus ministered to his own selfishness, gave a thought to the lady he was engaged to. "Poor Florry!" he moaned thoughtfully, "how she must have loved that man, and he wasn't healthy. I'm sure there was consumption in his family. I wonder if she loves me as much. Ah, that faint was such a shock to my nerves; so unexpected. I'd had pins and needles in the left leg. That is the first sign of paralysis. Oh, I do hope I'm not going to get paralysis." This idea so alarmed him that he arose hastily to see if his limbs would support him, and fell back in his chair with a subdued shriek as the shrill tones of an electric bell rang through the room. "The front-door bell," he said, peevishly. "Oh, my nerves! I must really have the sound softened. I wonder who wants to see me. I won't be seen. Who is it?" This question was addressed to Mr. Gimp, who had entered the room in his usual stealthy manner, and now handed his master two cards. "Mr. Roger Axton and Mr. Octavius Fanks," read Spolger, slowly. "I can't see them, Gimp, I really can't. The action of the drops demands perfect quiet." "The gentlemen have druv from town, sir." "Well, they must just drive back again," said his master, crossly. "My compliments, Gimp, and I'm too ill to see them." Gimp obediently retreated, but shortly afterwards returned with a curt message. "Mr. Axton ses he must see you, sir." "Oh, dear, dear!" moaned Spolger, irritably, "those healthy people have no consideration for an invalid. Well, if I must, Gimp, I must. But I see them under protest. Let them understand distinctly--under protest." Gimp once more disappeared, and on his reappearance ushered in Axton and Fanks, whom Mr. Spolger received with peevish politeness. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting, gentlemen," he said, waving his hand, "but my health, you know. I'm a mere wreck. I don't want to be jarred on. Pray be seated! Mr. Axton, you don't look well. Mr.--Mr.--" "Fanks," said that gentleman, introducing himself, "Octavius Fanks, detective." "Oh, indeed," replied Spolger, starting, "a detective, eh! I think I've seen your name in the papers lately." "Yes," said Axton, bluntly, "in connection with the Jarlchester affair." "Oh, indeed," repeated their host once more; "suicide, I believe, although Mr. Melstane did look consumptive. I incline to the latter. Now which idea do you favour, Mr. Fanks--suicide or consumption?" "Neither! It was a case of murder." "Murder!" Mr. Spolger jumped up in his chair as if he had been shot, and his face turned a chalky white.