"We have been looking for you, Captain Nepcote," Colwyn said.
"I am aware of that. I have been waiting to see you, but I could get nobody to answer my ring."
"My man is out. You had better come upstairs to my rooms."
He led the way to the lift at the end of the corridor. When they reached the rooms Colwyn switched on the electric light. Nepcote dropped wearily into a chair, and for the first time Colwyn was able to see his face clearly.
He looked very ill: there could be no doubt of that. His face was haggard and unshaven, his clothing was soiled, his attitude one of utter dejection. He crouched in the chair breathing hurriedly, with one hand pressed to his right side, as though in pain. Occasionally he coughed: a short, high-pitched cough, which made him wince.
"You had better drink this before you talk," Colwyn said.
He handed him a glass of brandy and water. Nepcote seized it eagerly and gulped it down.
"I've caught a bad chill," he said in a hoarse unnatural voice. "I couldn't carry on any longer. That's why I came to see you to-night. But I'd given up hopes. I was ringing for some time."
"You came to surrender yourself?"
"Yes; I am fed up—absolutely. I was a fool to bolt. I've had a horrible time, sleeping out of doors and in verminous lodging-houses, with the police after me at every turn. I stuck it as long as I could, but to-day I was ill, and when I saw a policeman watching the lodging-house where I meant to sleep to-night I felt that I had to give in."