sinking, and I doubt if he will last the day. He would not let
me get a doctor. This morning when I saw his bones sticking out
of his face and his great bright eyes looking at me I could stand
no more of it. 'With your leave or without it, Mr. Holmes, I am
going for a doctor this very hour,' said I. 'Let it be Watson,
then,' said he. I wouldn't waste an hour in coming to him, sir,
or you may not see him alive."

I was horrified for I had heard nothing of his illness. I need
not say that I rushed for my coat and my hat. As we drove back I
asked for the details.

"There is little I can tell you, sir. He has been working at a
case down at Rotherhithe, in an alley near the river, and he has
brought this illness back with him. He took to his bed on
Wednesday afternoon and has never moved since. For these three
days neither food nor drink has passed his lips."

"Good God! Why did you not call in a doctor?"

"He wouldn't have it, sir. You know how masterful he is. I
didn't dare to disobey him. But he's not long for this world, as
you'll see for yourself the moment that you set eyes on him."

He was indeed a deplorable spectacle. In the dim light of a
foggy November day the sick room was a gloomy spot, but it was
that gaunt, wasted face staring at me from the bed which sent a
chill to my heart. His eyes had the brightness of fever, there
was a hectic flush upon either cheek, and dark crusts clung to
his lips; the thin hands upon the coverlet twitched incessantly,