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“When did they give up?”

“Just about six days before ’is lordship was taken ill. They’d packed up and were going down-country to camp a little way—about two days’ journey, I think they said—outside Greytown. There they wanted to stay another three weeks or month, I understood, to see something of the natives. And what there was to see, I can’t say at all, my lord. A dirtier, horrider set of ruffians I never come across, and I’ve been with ’is late lordship in a good many countries before now.”

“What was the cause of the illness, d’you think?” I queried. “Bad food? Bad water? Anything of that kind?”

“Just the pure reek and stink of the places, I consider,” said Baines impressively. “There was a white mist that rose at night which fairly got one in the chest, my lord. And up at the ruins it was worse than anywhere. I only wonder I didn’t go down with it too. Only I was more careful at night than ’is lordship.”

“Well, Baines, what did his lordship say when he was conscious? Did he send any message to any one, or give any directions?”