“There’s no significance in this,” said the doctor.
“I’d like to ask him, though,” said Fox, “if it’s all the same to you, Sir Matthew.”
The doctor moved aside. Fox bent forward and stared at Lord Wutherwood.
A deep frown had drawn the eyebrows together. Some sort of sound came from the open mouth. “You want to show us something, my lord, don’t you?” said Fox. The fingers crawled across the cheek and upwards. “Your eyes? You want to show us your eyes?” The one eye closed slowly, and opened again, and a voice oddly definite, almost articulate, made a short sound.
“Is he going?” asked Lord Charles clearly.
“I think so,” said the doctor. “Is Lady Wutherwood—”
“She is very much distressed. She feels that she cannot face the ordeal.”
“She realizes,” said Dr. Kantripp, who had not spoken before, “that there is probably very little time?”
“Yes. My wife says she made it quite clear.”
The doctors turned again to the bed and seemed by this movement to dismiss Lady Wutherwood. The patient’s hand slipped away from his face. His gaze seemed to be fixed on the shadows at the foot of his bed.