“Sheppard!” he exclaimed. “Just the man I wanted to get hold of. This is a terrible business.”

“You’ve heard then?”

He nodded. He had felt the blow keenly, I could see. His big red cheeks seemed to have fallen in, and he looked a positive wreck of his usual jolly, healthy self.

“It’s worse than you know,” he said quietly. “Look here, Sheppard, I’ve got to talk to you. Can you come back with me now?”

“Hardly. I’ve got three patients to see still, and I must be back by twelve to see my surgery patients.”

“Then this afternoon⁠—no, better still, dine tonight. At 7:30? Will that suit you?”

“Yes⁠—I can manage that all right. What’s wrong? Is it Ralph?”

I hardly knew why I said that⁠—except, perhaps, that it had so often been Ralph.