“In the other wing of the house, sir—his and Mr. Coate’s room too,” Winkfield answered, eyeing him wonderingly.
“Can you describe to me precisely which room it is, and how it may be reached from this wing?”
Winkfield gave a slight gasp. “Yes, sir, but—”
“Then do so! I am coming to pay Mr. Henry a visit, but since I don’t wish Coate to know of it, it will be a nocturnal one—probably tomorrow night, if I can arrange it so.”
“Indeed, sir!” said Winkfield, rather faintly. “Were you—were you thinking of climbing through the window?”
“Your windows weren’t made for a man of my size, I’m afraid. I was rather thinking of entering by the side-door—which you would leave unlocked.”
“That would undoubtedly be better, sir,” agreed Winkfield. “If you were to proceed along this corridor, you would find yourself on the gallery that runs round the main staircase. Immediately opposite, is a similar corridor to this. The first door upon the right of it opens into Mr. Henry’s room. Beyond it is a small spare-room, and opposite to that is Mr. Coate’s room, with a dressing-room beside it.”
“Thank you, that’s very clear.”
“If I might venture to suggest, sir—I have been sleeping here, in this room, lately, and if you were to wake me—”
“I think I won’t, Winkfield. It is possible that you might not be able to attend to me, or be the only person in this room,” John said bluntly. “I’m afraid the end is very near now. I’ve seen men die, and that look is in your master’s face tonight.”