Fielding assured himself of the justice of his intention for the space of two days without putting it into execution, but on the third he chanced to meet Conway, and was given the information that Mallinson’s inherited income amounted to a thousand pounds.  The news decided him.  Under these circumstances Mallinson certainly ought to know.  He jumped into a hansom and drove down to South Kensington.

Mallinson was still in bed, but sufficiently recovered to write up his diary.  The book lay upon the counterpane open, but as Fielding was introduced into the room, its author shut it up and tucked it under his pillow.  It was kept entirely for his own perusal, a voluminous record of sensations ranging from a headache to a fit of anger, without the mention of an incident from cover to cover.

‘I hear you have had a touch of bronchitis,’ said Fielding.

’Something more than a touch, I can tell you.  I have been rather ill.  However, I am going to get up to-morrow.’

Fielding found it difficult to come to the point of his visit.

‘You must have found it dull.’

‘Not very.  I can always interest myself.  Drake came to see me yesterday.’

‘Drake!  How did he know?  Conway told him, I suppose.’

‘No, Miss Le Mesurier told him.’

‘Miss Le Mesurier?’ he asked.

‘Yes.  Are you surprised?’ The question was put with some resentment.

‘That she told him?  No, I expect she sent him.’  A smirk upon the invalid’s face showed he shared the thought.

‘By the way,’ Fielding continued, ’talking of Miss Le Mesurier, did you ever meet a man called Gorley?’

‘No.  There was a Gorley who was engaged to her.  Is that the man?’

’Yes.  I heard rather a strange story about him.  He went out to Africa, you know.’

Mallinson lifted himself on his elbow.

‘Africa,’ he said slowly.  ‘Yes, I heard that.  Why do you mention him?’

’Oh, I thought perhaps you might have known the man, that’s all.  He’s dead.’

Fielding spoke with a studied carelessness, looking anywhere except at Mallinson.

‘Dead,’ repeated Mallinson in the same tone, but his heart was beginning to race, and he lifted himself higher into a sitting position.  ’Gorley was a relation of Mrs. Willoughby, I believe.’

‘A kind of cousin.’

There was silence between the men for a second or two.  Mallinson was recalling what Mrs. Willoughby had said that evening at Beaufort Gardens, when Mr. Le Mesurier pressed her to meet Stephen Drake at lunch.

‘So Gorley died in Africa,’ he remarked.  ‘Where?  Do you know?’

‘Yes; at Boruwimi.’

Mallinson started.  Fielding glanced at him involuntarily, and their looks crossed.

’A strange story, you said.  Suppose you tell it me.  It will while away some of my time.’