"What was Mark's general health like? Did he see a doctor much?"

"Hardly at all, I should think. He did a lot of early morning
exercises which were supposed to make him bright and cheerful at
breakfast. They didn't do that, but they seemed to keep him
pretty fit. Tony, I wish you'd--"

Antony held up a hand and hushed him into silence.

"One last question," he said. "Was Mark fond of swimming?"

"No, he hated it. I don't believe he could swim. Tony, are you
mad, or am I? Or is this a new game?"

Antony squeezed his arm.

"Dear old Bill," he said. "It's a game. What a game! And the
answer is Cartwright in Wimpole Street."

They walked in silence for half a mile or so along the road to
Waldheim. Bill tried two or three times to get his friend to
talk, but Antony had only grunted in reply. He was just going to
make another attempt, when Antony came to a sudden stop and
turned to him anxiously.

"I wonder if you'd do something for me," he said, looking at him
with some doubt.

"What sort of thing?"