Holbrook."
"I will do so."
CHAPTER XXX.
STRICKEN DOWN.
A hansom carried Gilbert Fenton to the Temple, without loss of time.
There was a fierce hurry in his breast, a heat and fever which he had
scarcely felt since the beginning of his troubles; for his lurking
suspicion of his friend had gathered shape and strength all at once, and
possessed his mind now to the exclusion of every other thought.
He ran quickly up the stairs. The outer and inner doors of John Saltram's
chambers were both ajar. Gilbert pushed them open and went in. The
familiar sitting-room looked just a little more dreary than usual. The
litter of books and papers, ink-stand and portfolio, was transferred to
one of the side-tables, and in its place, on the table where his friend
had been accustomed to write, Gilbert saw a cluster of medicine-bottles,
a jug of toast-and-water, and a tray with a basin of lukewarm
greasy-looking beef-tea.
The door between the two rooms stood half open, and from the bedchamber
within Gilbert heard the heavy painful breathing of a sleeper. He went to
the door and looked into the room. John Saltram was lying asleep, in an
uneasy attitude, with both arms thrown over his head. His face had a
haggard look that was made all the more ghastly by two vivid crimson
spots upon his sunken cheeks; there were dark purple rings round his
eyes, and his beard was of more than a week's growth.
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