The patient’s left eye was hidden by a dressing. The right eye was open and stared straight up at the ceiling. From somewhere inside him, mingled with the hollow sound of his breathing, came a curious noise. His complicated mechanism of speech was trying unsuccessfully to function. The bedclothes were disturbed and very slowly one of his hands crept out. The nurse made a movement which was checked by Fox.

“Excuse me,” said Fox, “I’d be obliged if you’d let his lordship—”

“Yes, yes,” said the tall doctor. “Let him be, nurse.”

The hand crept on laboriously out of shadow into light. The finger tips, clinging to the surface of the neck, crawling with infinite pains, seemed to have a separate life of their own. The single eye no longer stared at the ceiling but turned anxiously in its deep socket as though questing for some attentive face.

“Is he trying to show us something, Sir Matthew?” asked Fox.

“No, no. Quite impossible. The movement has no meaning. He doesn’t know—”

“I’d be obliged if you’d ask him, just the same.”

The doctor gave the slightest possible shrug, leant forward, slid his hand under the sheet, and spoke distinctly. “Do you want to tell us something?”

The eyelid flickered.

“Do you want to tell us how you were hurt?”

The door opened. Lord Charles Lamprey came into the half light. He stood motionless at the foot of the bed and watched his brother’s hand move, lagging inch by inch, up the sharp angle of his jaw.

“There’s no significance in this,” said the doctor.

“I’d like to ask him, though,” said Fox, “if it’s all the same to you, Sir Matthew.”

The doctor moved aside. Fox bent forward and stared at Lord Wutherwood.

A deep frown had drawn the eyebrows together. Some sort of sound came from the open mouth. “You want to show us something, my lord, don’t you?” said Fox. The fingers crawled across the cheek and upwards. “Your eyes? You want to show us your eyes?” The one eye closed slowly, and opened again, and a voice oddly definite, almost articulate, made a short sound.

“Is he going?” asked Lord Charles clearly.

“I think so,” said the doctor. “Is Lady Wutherwood—”

“She is very much distressed. She feels that she cannot face the ordeal.”

“She realizes,” said Dr. Kantripp, who had not spoken before, “that there is probably very little time?”

“Yes. My wife says she made it quite clear.”

The doctors turned again to the bed and seemed by this movement to dismiss Lady Wutherwood. The patient’s hand slipped away from his face. His gaze seemed to be fixed on the shadows at the foot of his bed.

“Perhaps,” said Fox, “if he could see you, my lord, he might make a greater effort to speak.”

“He can see me.”

Fox reached out a massive arm and tilted the lamp. The figure at the foot of the bed was thrown into strong relief. Lord Charles blinked in the sudden glare but did not move.