Just then there came a tap upon the door; the old servant woman entered, but at the sight of those present, she halted.
"I beg your pardon, Simon," she said to Morse. "I did not know you were engaged."
He looked at her coldly.
"Well, Nanon," said he, "what is it now? Out again? There is no service at your church to-night."
There was a jeer in his voice, but the old French woman paid no attention to it. That she addressed him by his first name indicated that she felt no sense of inferiority. Indeed, as Ashton-Kirk regarded her, he detected a look of contempt upon her severe face.
"No," she answered, "there is no service to-night, as you know very well. I came to speak of Drevenoff."
A peculiar look came into the eyes of the secret agent; it was as though he were groping about for something hidden away in his memory; then like a flash, recollection seemed to come.
"Well, what of him?" asked Dr. Morse.
"He is no better. Even now while he clips the hedges, he shakes with cold; again he burns."
The physician gestured impatiently. Arising he went to a small cabinet and took out a jar partly filled with whitish pills. While he was so engaged, Warwick whispered to Ashton-Kirk.