"Yes! Wicked Colonel Carr. From all accounts he was one of the worst."
"Why did he commit suicide?"
"He did not, if Bridge is to be believed. He insists that the man was shot--perhaps by his servant, who has vanished. However we shall hear all that is to be heard this afternoon."
A colour crept into the wan cheek of Joyce. "I should like to get up and hear all about it," said he, "there might be material for a story."
"You can hear details later on. At present you must stay in bed, until we return to Town."
"What about our walking tour?"
"I have decided to cut that short," replied the doctor, "this adventure has given me a distaste for the trip. In a day or so, when you are rested we will return to London. My practice is small but I must attend to it."
"And what about me Jim?"
"Well!" reflected Herrick, "you are now well enough off not to make work an imperative necessity. I think you should go abroad for a time, and do nothing, until you are quite yourself. Explore Italy or Spain, and don't do a stroke of work. Change of scene and company will make you your old self again in a short time."
"Never, never!" moaned Joyce. "I shall never get over her death."