“Dead?”
“Dying,” replied the inspector; “expected to go at any moment. But the doctor tells me that she may—it's just possible—recover consciousness before the end; and there's a bare chance”...
“I see,” said Sowerby eagerly; “of course she must know!”
The two hastened to Palace Mansions. Despite the lateness of the hour, Whitehall was thronged with vehicles, and all the glitter and noise of midnight London surrounded them.
“It only seems like yesterday evening,” said Dunbar, as they mounted the stair of Palace Mansions, “that I came here to take charge of the case. Damme! it's been the most exciting I've ever handled, and it's certainly the most disappointing.”
“It is indeed,” said Sowerby, gloomily, pressing the bell-button at the side of Henry Leroux's door.
The door was opened by Garnham; and these two, fresh from the noise and bustle of London's streets, stepped into the hushed atmosphere of the flat where already a Visitant, unseen but potent, was arrived, and now was beckoning, shadowlike, to Mira Leroux.
“Will you please sit down and wait,” said Garnham, placing chairs for the two Scotland Yard men in the dining-room.
“Who's inside?” whispered Dunbar, with that note of awe in his voice which such a scene always produces; and he nodded in the direction of the lobby.
“Mr. Leroux, sir,” replied the man, “the nurse, Miss Cumberly, Dr. Cumberly and Miss Ryland”...