"A brave man like that never does complain. Besides, he took great care of himself. When he came back to London he was fairly well. I think he must have done something rash to bring on a recurrence of his illness. Within a few days of his arrival he grew sick again. In some way he over-exerted himself."
"I don't think he ever did," said Mallow, doubtfully.
"But I am certain of it. Within a week of his arrival here he had a relapse. I taxed him with going out too much and with over-exertion, but he declined to answer me."
"Will he become conscious again?"
"I think so, in a few hours, but I cannot be sure. However, you need not be alarmed, Mr. Mallow. His affairs are all right. In view of his illness I advised him to make his will. He said that he had done so, and that everything was in apple-pie order."
"It is not that, doctor. I wish to ask him some questions. Will you remain here?"
"Till the end," replied Yeo, significantly; "but it will not take place for a few hours, so far as I can see."
"I wish to go out for an hour. Can I, with safety?"
"Certainly. Lord Caranby will live for some time yet."
Mallow nodded and left the bedroom, while Yeo returned to the bed upon which lay the unconscious form of the old man. Cuthbert took a walk to the end of the street where the wreckage of the motor car had now been removed, and asked the policeman what had become of the victims. He was informed that the chauffeur, in a dying condition, had been removed to the Charing Cross Hospital, and that the body of the old woman—so the constable spoke—had been taken to the police station near at hand. "She's quite dead and very much smashed up," was the man's report.