It was at half-past ten in the forenoon of a Saturday in July that Mr. Cooper Silwood, precise in attire, composed in appearance, and punctual as usual to the minute, walked into his room on the first floor of 176 New Square, Lincoln's Inn, where were the offices of Eversleigh, Silwood and Eversleigh, the well-known and long-established firm of solicitors of which he was a partner.
He was met, as was customary, on his entrance by the head-clerk, John Williamson, who had already opened and sorted out methodically the letters received over-night. An admirable specimen of his class, Williamson generally wore an air of great imperturbability, but this morning his face had a troubled expression.
"Anything special, Mr. Williamson?" asked Silwood quietly, putting away his hat and gloves.
"There are two or three important matters to attend to, sir," replied the man quickly. "The most important is a letter from Mr. Morris Thornton," he continued, but in a markedly different tone; at the same time, he looked at his principal with an anxiety he tried hard but just failed to dissemble.
"From Mr. Thornton," observed Silwood, calmly; he noticed, but was in no wise disconcerted by, the head-clerk's manner.
"Yes, sir; he writes from Vancouver."
"And what does he say?" inquired Silwood.
"He states that he is coming home immediately," answered Williamson, and now there was unmistakable anxiety in his voice as well as in his face.
"Indeed!" exclaimed Silwood, who had given a slight yet perceptible start on hearing the news. "It's surely very sudden," he went on after a pause of a few seconds. "In his last letter—let me see; we got it about a fortnight ago—he said nothing about returning soon to England."
"He did not mention it at all, sir, I am certain. But you will see from this last letter of his that he has a very strong reason for leaving British Columbia; he is seriously ill—so ill that he has been warned by his doctor to set his affairs in order. One knows what that means—he is in a critical condition."