The Five Knots by Fred M. White

Wilfrid walked slowly back to Bloomsbury, his own affairs uppermost in his mind. His morning had not been wasted. He had found out several things likely to be of use to him, but, on the other hand, the time was so short, that it seemed almost impossible to save the situation. There was an outside chance that his friend Vardon might have been able to raise the money, but no information had come from him and in such cases no news is bad news. The security had undoubtedly found its way into Cotter's hands and no time would be lost in making use of the weapon. The mere thought was maddening. Here was a man lying on his death-bed, yet ready to strike at another man who on two occasions had risked his life for him. It would have been better to allow those poisonous little Easterners to have their own way and remove a scoundrel like Flower altogether. Still, there was a chance yet and Wilfrid meant to take advantage of it if he had the opportunity. He was not beaten.

Beatrice's pale white face glancing wearily through the drawing-room window recalled him to himself. There was better news, on the whole, than Wilfrid had expected. Sheldon's operation had been partially successful, and he and his colleague were waiting for Wilfrid's return.