a nebulous conveyance, that I took at
first for a tradesman's van; to my horror it proved to be a hearse; and
all at once the white breath ceased upon my lips.

I had looked up at our windows and the blinds were down!

I rushed within. The doctor's door stood open. I neither knocked nor
rang, but found him in his consulting-room with red eyes and a blotchy
face. Otherwise he was in solemn black from head to heel.

"Who is dead?" I burst out. "Who is dead?"

The red eyes looked redder than ever as Dr. Theobald opened them at the
unwarrantable sight of me; and he was terribly slow in answering. But
in the end he did answer, and did not kick me out as he evidently had a
mind.

"Mr. Maturin," he said, and sighed like a beaten man.

I said nothing. It was no surprise to me. I had known it all these
minutes. Nay, I had dreaded this from the first, had divined it at the
last, though to the last also I had refused to entertain my own
conviction. Raffles dead! A real invalid after all! Raffles dead,
and on the point of burial!

"What did he die of?" I asked, unconsciously drawing on that fund of
grim self-control which the weakest of us seem to hold in reserve for
real calamity.

"Typhoid," he answered. "Kensington is full of it."

"He was sickening for it when I left, and you knew it, and could get
rid of me then!"

"My good fellow, I was obliged to have a more experienced nurse for
that very reason."

The doctor's tone was so conciliatory that I remembered in an instant
what a humbug the man was, and became suddenly possessed with the vague
conviction that he was imposing upon me now.

"Are you sure it was typhoid at all?" I cried fiercely to his face.
"Are you sure it wasn't suicide--or murder?"

I confess that I can see little point in this speech as I write it
down, but it was what I said in a burst of grief and of wild suspicion;
nor was it without effect upon Dr. Theobald, who turned bright scarlet
from his well-brushed hair to his immaculate collar.

"Do you want me to throw you out into the street?" he cried; and all at
once I remembered that I had come to Raffles as a perfect stranger, and
for his sake might as well preserve that character to the last.

"I beg your pardon," I said, brokenly. "He was so good to me--I
became so attached to him. You forget I am originally of his class."

"I did forget it," replied Theobald, looking relieved at my new tone,
"and I beg YOUR pardon for doi