He handed her an open letter. She waved it away.
"That's of no consequence. Sit down. You're ill. You have a high temperature. You should be in bed."
"I've been," said Septimus. "Four days."
"And you've got up in this state? You must go back at once. Have you seen a doctor? No, of course you haven't. Oh, dear!" She wrung her hands. "You are not fit to be trusted alone. I'll drive you to your hotel and see that you're comfortable and send for a doctor."
"I've left the hotel," said Septimus. "I'm going to catch the eleven train. My luggage is on that cab."
"But it's five minutes past eleven now. You have lost the train—thank goodness."
"I'll be in good time for the four o'clock," said Septimus. "This is the way I generally travel. I told you." He rose, swayed a bit, and put his hand on the table to steady himself. "I'll go and wait at the station. Then I'll be sure to catch it. You see I must go."
"But why?" cried Zora.
"Wiggleswick's letter. The house has been burnt down and everything in it. The only thing he saved was a large portrait of Queen Victoria."
Then he fainted.