One by one the men came up, looked at his ashy face, shook their heads, and slowly left the room.
When they had all gone Rowton spoke to Simpkins.
“What did he give me?” he asked.
With some hesitation Simpkins named a drug, bending low to do so.
Rowton’s face could not grow more ghastly.
“Then it is certain death,” he said.
“Yes, certain death; but, if you like, we’ll fetch a doctor.”
“Never mind. Were enquiries set on foot, things would go badly with you. I die, I hope, as a man——”
He paused, struggling for breath.
“I always knew,” he continued, “that the fate I have met might be mine. There is no hope, you say. I may live for—two hours.”