morning, sir," Marley said. "Whatever was the nature of the crime, it
wasn't robbery, or the criminal wouldn't have left that cigar-case of
yours behind. Sir James Lythem had one stolen like that at the last
races, and he valued it at L80."

"I'll come as far as the hospital with you," said Steel.

At the bottom of the flight of steps they encountered Dr. Cross and the
policeman. The former handed over to Marley a pocket-book and some
papers, together with a watch and chain.

"Everything that we could find upon him," he explained.

"Is the poor fellow dead yet?" David asked.

"No," Cross replied. "He was stabbed twice in the back in the region of
the liver. I could not say for sure, but there is just a chance that he
may recover. But one thing is pretty certain--it will be a good long
time before he is in a position to say anything for himself. Good-night,
Mr. Steel."

David went indoors thoughtfully, with a general feeling that something
like a hand had grasped his brain and was squeezing it like a sponge. He
was free from his carking anxiety now, but it seemed to him that he was
paying a heavy price for his liberty. Mechanically, he counted out the
bank-notes, and almost as mechanically he cut his initials on the
gun-metal inside the cigar-case. He was one of the kind of men who like
to have their initials everywhere.

He snapped the lights out and went to bed at last. But not to sleep. The