'What an extraordinary communication. What does it mean? From whom has it come?'
'It's from Twickenham.'
'Douglas!'
She dropped her hands, note and all, on to her knee.
'To me it's like a voice from the grave. The words with which he bade me farewell are almost the identical ones with which he bids me come to him again.'
'Then it was he you saw?'
'Apparently.'
'And what does this mean?'
'It seems that he is ill.'
'Ill?' She referred to the note. 'He says that the Devil's got him by the throat. I shouldn't wonder. I believe, for my part, that there always is a time when that person comes to claim his own. You can't go on being wicked with impunity for ever. And that--he'll be dead to-morrow. Douglas, he says that he'll be dead before this time to-morrow.'