"Then you were thinking very hard this morning?"

"I was," he admitted.

"And gazing very earnestly out of those field-glasses of yours."

"Quite true."

"Mr. Thew," she said abruptly, "it is my impression, although for some
reason or other I am scarcely allowed to go near him, that Mr.
Phillips is dying."

"One knew, of course, that there was that risk," Jocelyn Thew reminded
her.

"I do not think that he can possibly live for twenty-four hours," she
continued. "I was allowed to sit with him for a short time early this
morning. He is beginning to wander in his mind, to speak of his wife
and a sum of money." Jocelyn's fine eyebrows came a little
closer together.

"Well?"

"Nothing in his appearance or speech indicate the man of wealth or
even of birth. I begin to wonder whether I know the whole truth about
this frantic desire of his to reach England before he dies?"

"I think," Jocelyn Thew said thoughtfully, "that you have been talking
again to Mr. Crawshay."