His hand dived into his own pocket and then held out a crumpled telegram.
I took it and read this message.
"Request permission to be visited by my own doctor. Hobhouse."
"Do you mean to say you never sent that off yourself?" exclaimed
Sir Francis.
"Never!"
"Then who the—!" My uncle's expression completed the sentence.
Jack Whiteclett was looking uncommonly grave.
"This is a somewhat serious matter, Roger," he said quietly. "Didn't you write this either?"
He handed me a half sheet of paper on which was written in pencil these words.
"GO TO DOCTOR'S. IF NO FURTHER MESSAGE THERE GO ON TO SCOLLAYS' IMMEDIATELY."
It was printed in capital letters so as to give no clue to the handwriting.