"And I showed them the way to our own doctor--Dr. Tretheway. And as a
result of what he said to them, I heard them decide to break up their
journey into stages, as you might term it. They left here for Bristol
that afternoon--to stay the night there."
"You're sure of that?--Bristol?" asked Gilling.
"Ought to be," replied the landlord, with laconic assurance. "I
went to the station with them and saw them off. They booked to
Bristol--anyway--first class."
Gilling looked at his companion.
"I think we'd better see this Dr. Tretheway," he remarked.
Dr. Tretheway, an elderly man of grave manners and benevolent aspect,
remembered the visit of Mr. Marston Greyle well enough when he had turned
up its date in his case book. He also remembered the visitor's companion,
Mr. Chatfield, who seemed unusually anxious and concerned about Mr.
Greyle's health.
"And as to that," continued Dr. Tretheway, "I learnt from Mr. Greyle that
he had been seriously indisposed for some months before setting out for
England. The voyage had been rather a rough one; he had suffered much
from sea-sickness, and, in his state of health, that was unfortunate for
him. I made a careful examination of him, and I came to the conclusion
that he was suffering from a form of myocarditis which was rapidly
assuming a very serious complexion. I earnestly advised him to take as
much rest as possible, to avoid all unnecessary fatigue and all
excitement, and I strongly deprecated his travelling in one journey to
the north, whither I learnt he was bound.
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