"The doctor--my doctor and his own--and a couple of nurses," Byng said, sharply, and Krool nodded and vanished.
"Perhaps it's only a slight heart-attack, but it's best to be on the safe side." "Anyhow, it shows that Wallstein needs to let up for a while," whispered Fleming.
"It means that some one must do Wallstein's work here," said Barry Whalen.

"It means that Byng stays in London," he added, as Krool entered the room again with a rug to cover Wallstein.
Barry saw Krool's eyes droop before his words, and he was sure that the servant had reasons for wishing his master to go to South Africa.

The others present, however, only saw a silent, magically adept figure stooping over the sick man, adjusting the body to greater ease, arranging skilfully the cushion under the head, loosening and removing the collar and the boots, and taking possession of the room, as though he himself were the doctor; while Byng looked on with satisfaction.
"Useful person, eh ?" he said, meaningly, in an undertone to Barry Whalen.
"I don't think he's at home in England," rejoined Barry, as meaningly and very stubbornly: "He won't like your not going to South Africa." "Am I not going to South Africa ?" Byng asked, mechanically, and looking reflectively at Krool.
"Wallstein's a sick man, Byng.

You can't leave London.

You're the only real politician among us.