Part 18 (2/2)

This was Foster. Hanc.o.c.k snapped him up.

'You doubt? My dear sir, there's no room for doubt on that point. He always suffered from a weak heart; even, I remember, as a lad. Heart trouble is, I fear, at the base of the trouble now. It is part of the complaint--that the sufferer is continually falling asleep, without notice. From that sleep it is hard to rouse him. In that sleep he often pa.s.ses away--as, probably, will be the case here. It would be wrong for me to say that I think there is a chance of ultimate recovery when I don't. In a medical sense his lords.h.i.+p is dying now.'

That was Hanc.o.c.k. He gained his reputation by a carefully cultivated habit of jumping at conclusions. The average doctor hums and haws, and tells you nothing. Hanc.o.c.k neither hums nor haws, but tells you everything; or pretends to. He must have been right--or have managed to pa.s.s for right--pretty frequently, or he would hardly occupy the position which he does. He is well on the shady side of eighty--hale, hearty, and, what is surprising, still in fas.h.i.+on.

Foster was the first to speak.

'When, Sir Gregory, may the end be expected? Lord Reginald must pardon my asking so frank a question, but, as I will explain to him later, it is of the first importance that I should know exactly what we may expect.'

Reggie said nothing. Sir Gregory considered a moment.

'What is the opinion of the gentleman who is already in attendance?'

I replied. 'Dr. White thinks he will not live four-and-twenty hours.'

Hanc.o.c.k felt the patient's pulse. Opening his s.h.i.+rt he applied the stethoscope; tried his temperature. The sleeper never moved, or showed consciousness of what was going on. The condition of his body, as it was revealed when Hanc.o.c.k opened his s.h.i.+rt, amazed me. It was nothing but skin and bone. And such a colour. Was it possible that this was the man who yesterday had been smoking his cigar on the couch at the York Hotel? My perplexity grew apace. Hanc.o.c.k p.r.o.nounced his opinion.

'What Dr. White says is correct. I should doubt myself if he will live through the day.'

'Can nothing be done?' asked Reggie.

'Humanly speaking, nothing. He is not dead, but he is so nearly so that he may be said to be already looking through the gates.'

Hanc.o.c.k liked to talk like that. It was supposed that remarks of that kind had made him popular with women. Foster fidgeted.

'Sir Gregory, it is essential that the Marquis should make a will. He was in possession of all his faculties before you entered. Can nothing be done to rouse him?'

Hanc.o.c.k shrugged his shoulders.

'What?'

'Anything. A will we ought to have at any cost. Its absence may be the cause of endless confusion.'

'I can only say, sir, that if the Marquis of Twickenham has not made a will already he never will. Any attempt to rouse him, such as you appear to suggest, might result in his instant death. If we succeeded he would be incapable of doing what you require.'

Foster turned to Reggie.

'I can only say that, from your point of view, your brother might as well have continued an absentee as, under the present circ.u.mstances, die intestate.'

I struck in. 'That's absurd. Lord Reginald will succeed.'

'Will he? Don't be too sure. There will always be a probability of other claimants. Opposition may come from a dozen quarters. How can we tell what connections such a man as he has been may not have formed during fifteen years?'

As he propounded this delightful proposition an extraordinary thing took place. Once more the sleeper awoke. He just opened his eyes and looked at us.

'Where's Foster?'

<script>