“Better not,” replied the clear-headed
man. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
But his lordship insisted, looking reproachfully,
and the brandy was produced. It did him good;
that is to say, it brought colour to his face, and
enabled him to sit upright. No sooner was he thus
recovered than his eyes fell upon the envelope of a
telegram which lay on his writing-table.
“There it is, at last!”
He tore the paper, all but sobbing with agony of impatience.
“Good God, I can’t see it! I’ve
gone half blind all at once. Read it for me,
Gammon.”
“Hope see you to-night. Important news.
If not, in morning. —Greenacre.”
“Where did he send it from?”
“Euston, six o’clock.”
“Then he came by the Irish day-mail. Why
didn’t I think of that and meet the train?
What does he mean by to-night or to-morrow morning?
What does he mean?”
“How can I tell?” replied Gammon.
“Perhaps he has called here while you were away.”
Lord Polperro rang the bell, only to find that no
one had asked for him. He was in a state of pitiable
agitation, kept shuffling about the room with coughs
and gasps, demanding ceaselessly why Greenacre left
the hour of his appearance uncertain. Gammon,
scarcely less excited in his own way, shouted assurances
that the fellow might turn up at any moment.
It was not yet ten o’clock. Why not sit
down and wait quietly?
“I will,” said the other. “I
will thank you, Gammon. I will sit down and wait.
But I cannot conceive why he didn’t come straight
here from Euston. I may as well tell you he has
been to Ireland for me on business of the gravest
importance. I am not impatient without cause.
I trust Greenacre implicitly. He had a gentleman’s
education. I am convinced he could not deceive
me.”
More brandy helped him to surmount this crisis, then
he was silent for a few minutes. Gammon thought
he had begun to doze again, but of a sudden he spoke
distinctly and earnestly.
“I am forgetting. You remember what I had
decided to do. It shall be done at once, Gammon.
I know it will relieve my mind.”
He rose, went to the writing-table, unlocked a drawer,
and took out a large sealed envelope, on which something
was written.
“Gammon, you are witness of what I now do.
This is my will, executed about a year ago. I
have reasons for wishing to dispose of my property
in another way. Cuthbertson will see to that for
me to-morrow. A will becomes public. I did
not think of that at the time. There!”
He threw the sealed packet into the fire, where it
was quickly caught by the flames and consumed.
“Now I feel easier in mind, much easier.”
He drank from the replenished glass, smiling and nodding.
NEW YEAR’S EVE
Gammon had the strangest sensation. He felt as
though he were acting in a melodrama; he stood in
a constrained position, as if the eyes of the house
were upon him; he suffered from a sort of stage fright.
Much more of this kind of thing would assuredly unsettle
his wits. To recover tone he helped himself to
a stiff glass of whisky.
