"Labour troubles?"
The big man, with his black hair, pale face and swarthy eyes, shook his head.
"I wish it was." He put his hand to his heart. "I've got notice to quit. Rivers gives me eighteen months at most. Damn nuisance." He stared out of the window at the two women under the elm. "I don't feel like dying. And there was so much to do."
"Let's see," said the Doctor.
He applied the stethoscope, and then replaced it in his pocket without comment. It was clear from the negative expression of his face that he agreed with Sir Audrey Rivers' judgment.
Mr. Caspar, intuitive as his friend, asked no questions.
"That's it," said he. "Machine wearing out. I've rattled her about too much, I suppose. Well, a man must live—my sort of man at least. I could never be content to rust. There's nothing to be done. It's just good-bye and no au revoir this time. That's why I came down. I wanted to see the boy before I pushed off." He turned suddenly. "How's he getting on?"
Mr. Trupp shrugged his shoulders.
"No improvement?" asked the other.
"I wouldn't say that. He's put the brake on a bit of late."