"If he goes to his own house," said Gammon, "I'll see him safe there and let you know. He lives in the West End. Now don't upset yourself; if he doesn't come back you shall know where he is, and if you want to you shall go and see him. I promise you that. I know all about him, and so shall you; so just keep yourself quiet. He'll have to go to bed and stay there; anyone can see that. If you take my advice you'll let us go out quietly and not speak to him. Just trust to me, Mrs. Clover."
"Do you think he's right in his mind?" she asked.
"Well, he's very shaky, and ought to be kept quiet. What has he told you?"
"Nothing at all; he sat crying for an hour last night, and talked about the old times. When I asked questions he put me off. And when I went into his room this morning he said nothing except that he wanted to see you, and that he must have some brandy for his cold."
"All right; let us leave the house quietly, and I'll see you again to-day or to-morrow. Oh, I say, has a man called Greenacre been here at any time?"
"I don't know anyone of that name," answered Mrs. Clover as she turned distressfully away.
A cab was summoned, and Gammon, having helped the sick man to clothe himself warmly in overcoat and muffler, led him from the house. They drove straightway to Lowndes Mansions.