“How do you know that?”

“I don’t know it—­that’s the worst of it.  But I couldn’t be surer of it if they took me into their secrets.  But there’s the evidence of his condition; there’s the fact that it didn’t begin until after Travers came.  Look here, Mr. Headland, you don’t know my dad.  He’s got the queerest notions sometimes.  One of his fads is that it’s unlucky to make a will.  Well, if he dies without one, who will inherit his money, as I am an only child?”

“Undoubtedly you and his widow.”

“Exactly.  And if I die at pretty nearly the same time—­and they’ll see to that, never fear; it will be my turn the moment they are sure of him—­she will inherit everything.  Now, let me tell you what’s happening.  From being a strong, healthy man, my father has, since Travers’s arrival, begun to be attacked by a mysterious malady.  He has periodical fainting-fits, sometimes convulsions.  He’ll be feeling better for a day or so; then, without a word of warning, whilst you’re talking to him, he’ll drop like a shot bird and go into the most horrible convulsions.  The doctors can’t stop it; they don’t even know what it is.  They only know that he’s fading away—­turning from a strong, virile old man into a thin, nervous, shivering wreck.  But I know!  I know!  They’re dosing him somehow with some diabolical Javanese thing, those two.  And yesterday—­God help me!—­yesterday, I, too, dropped like a shot bird; I, too, had the convulsions and the weakness and the fainting-fit.  My time has begun also!”

“Bless my soul! what a diabolical thing!” put in Narkom agitatedly.  “No wonder you appealed to me!”

“No wonder!” Bawdrey replied.  “I felt that it had gone as far as I dared to let it; that it was time to call in the police and to have help before it was too late.  That’s the case, Mr. Headland.  I want you to find some way of getting at the truth, of looking into Travers’s luggage, into my stepmother’s effects, and unearthing the horrible stuff with which they are doing this thing; and perhaps, when that is known, some antidote may be found to save the dear old dad and restore him to what he was.  Can’t you do this?  For God’s sake, say that you can.”

“At all events, I can try, Mr. Bawdrey,” responded Cleek.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” said Bawdrey gratefully.  “I don’t care a hang what it costs, what your fees are, Mr. Headland.  So long as you run those two to earth, and get hold of the horrible stuff, whatever it is, that they are using, I’ll pay any price in the world, and count it cheap as compared with the life of my dear old dad.  When can you take hold of the case?  Now?”

“I’m afraid not.  Mysterious things like this require a little thinking over.  Suppose we say to-morrow noon?  Will that do?”

“I suppose it must, although I should have liked to take you back with me.  Every moment’s precious at a time like this.  But if it must be delayed until to-morrow—­well, it must, I suppose.  But I’ll take jolly good care that nobody gets a chance to come within touching distance of the pater—­bless him!—­until you do come, if I have to sit on the mat before his door until morning.  Here’s the address on this card, Mr. Headland.  When and how shall I expect to see you again?  You’ll use an alias, of course?”