"No. He has been ailing slightly for a few weeks past—that is all."
"He seems to me to be very much run down," the doctor went on. "You must make a point of getting him to see his own physician—the family doctor. In the mean time, I'll fetch him a strong pick-me-up and some light, nourishing food of which he stands much in need. After he has had it, he should be taken home at once, and put to bed as soon as possible."
"Very well," agreed Gilbert; and the doctor went on his way down the stairs. Gilbert returned to his father's room.
Father and son, now left alone for the first time since the discovery of Morris Thornton's body, looked at each other strangely. Gilbert's gaze seemed to ask the question, "What is the meaning of all this?" His father understood him but darkly, for he was suffering from a frightful obsession which numbed his brain. He was powerless to think coherently; all that he could fix his mind upon was merely what was nearest him, or what was immediately happening. It was this which explained his next words.
"What was the doctor saying to you, Gilbert?" he asked.
"Well, he said you were run down, and wanted bracing up," replied Gilbert.
"Was that it?"
"Yes; and I must say that it is not surprising you're ill, after two such shocks as you have received to-day."
Then there was silence between them. Strange thoughts, half-formed suspicions crowded upon Gilbert in that pause. He glanced at his father, uncertain whether to speak to him or not.
"Father," he said at last, "I do not like to press the subject on you when you are so far from strong; but how do you account for Morris Thornton's body being found in Mr. Silwood's chambers—have you formed any theory?"