"I shall have time to call on my way," said Gammon, "and I could send you a wire."
"Will you? I can't go."
She sobbed, but quietly, hiding her face in her hands. Gammon, more distressed by her emotion than he had ever felt at the sight of a woman weeping, did his clumsy best to solace her. He would call at the hospital straight away and telegraph the news as soon as possible. And anything else he could learn about Lord Polperro should be made known to her without delay. He wrote on a piece of paper the address in Sloane Street, and that of the house in Stanhope Gardens. On the point of departure something occurred to him that it was wise to say.
"I shouldn't do anything just yet." He looked at her impressively. "In your position I should just wait a little. I'm sure it would be better, and I may be able to give you a reason before long."
She nodded.
"I shall do nothing—nothing."
"That's best, I assure you. You're not angry with me? You'll shake hands?"
She gave him her hand; withdrew it quickly; turned to hide her face again. And Gammon hastened Citywards.
A telegram came from him in little more than an hour. It reported that the patient was still unconscious and dangerously ill.
When, later in the afternoon, Gammon went to the hospital to make another inquiry he learnt that Lord Polperro was dead.