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In the end, I temporised with a moderate dose of bromide,
deciding to call and see if more energetic measures were necessary.
"He had better take a dose of this at once, Miss Oman," said I, as I
handed her the bottle, "and I will look in later and see how he is."
"I expect he will be glad to see you," she answered, "for he is all
alone to-night and very dumpy. Miss Bellingham is out. But I must remind
you that he's a poor man and pays his way. You must excuse my mentioning
it."
"I am much obliged to you for the hint, Miss Oman," I rejoined. "It
isn't necessary for me to see him, but I should like just to look in and
have a chat."
"Yes, it will do him good. You have your points, though punctuality
doesn't seem to be one of them," and with this parting shot Miss Oman
bustled away.
Half-past eight found me ascending the great, dim staircase of the house
in Nevill's Court preceded by Miss Oman, by whom I was ushered into the
room. Mr. Bellingham, who had just finished some sort of meal, was
sitting hunched up in his chair gazing gloomily into the empty grate.


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