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Greyle asked if a journey to that place would be too much for him he said with a laugh, that over there in the United States a journey of five hundred miles would be considered a mere jaunt! He was very plucky, poor fellow, but " Dr. Tretheway ended with a significant shake of the head, and his two visitors left him and went out into the autumn sunlight.

But my impression was that he had already reached a very, very serious stage." "You think he was then likely to die suddenly?" suggested Gilling. "It was quite possible. I should not have been surprised to hear of his death," answered Dr. Tretheway. "He was, in short, very ill indeed." "You never heard anything?" inquired Gilling. "Nothing at all though I often wondered.

"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.

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.

"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.