The Twickenham Peerage Part 18

'That would be hard on Reggie.'

'If you have his real interests at heart--which I have no reason to doubt'--he grinned--'you will a.s.sist me in persuading the Marquis to express his wishes in proper form--that is, make a will--without further delay. At present he is perfectly capable of doing so; but an hour may make all the difference, and if he dies intestate Lord Reginald will have plenty of trouble in front of him.'

Complications were crowding on me in a fas.h.i.+on which was unexpected. I had never counted on Mr. Babbacombe's having to make a will. There was sound sense in what Foster said; on the other hand, considerable risk might attend my urging Mr. Babbacombe to commit forgery. Always supposing, that is, he was not Twickenham. If he was, why, then----

I decided, having glanced at the situation, so far as I was able, all round, outwardly, at least, to join hands with Foster in endeavouring to persuade the invalid to comply with his request. To have refused, without any apparently valid reason, would have been to rouse his always active suspicions. And also, it did occur to me that if a will was made and Mr. Babbacombe, after death, did prove himself too keen in the direction of blackmail--I never for a moment lost sight of the fact that, thousand pounds or no thousand pounds, out of this little performance Mr. Babbacombe proposed, in all probability, to provide himself with a sufficient income for the rest of his life--that will might be used to keep him within the paths of reason. It was bad enough to enter into a conspiracy of the kind to which he was committed; it was, if anything, a trifle worse to forge a will; and such a will--as, later on, it might be necessary to inform him.

He proved, however, as I might have expected, too old a bird to be caught with salt. When Foster and I brought our combined forces to bear on the attack we found that he was asleep again. He had fallen into another of those profound dozes, out of which it was so difficult to wake him. Foster spoke to him; then I. He paid no heed to either; as before, he was deaf, dumb, and blind.

'Well,' I inquired, when it was plain that no verbal a.s.sault would reach him, 'what's to be done now? Would you like to shake him?'

Foster compressed his lips; he was plainly annoyed.

'It's easy for you to laugh now; I doubt if it will prove a laughing matter to Lord Reginald.--Do you think he really is asleep?'

'That is exactly the question I was putting to myself when you came in. I also had a few remarks to make which I had a shrewd suspicion he did not choose to hear.'

'What did you wish to say?'

'My dear Foster, I take at least as much interest in the Marquis of Twickenham as you can do. I'm just as anxious to find out things. I thought then, as I think now, that he intends I shall find out nothing; or you either. He's been a hard nut to crack his whole life long; he means to continue uncrackable to the end.'

'He seems very ill.'

'He does not seem well.'

'As he lies there like that he looks as if he were a corpse.'

'I don't think he is, as yet.'

'What does the doctor say?'

'Death probably within four-and-twenty hours.' Foster laid his hand upon my arm.

'Mr. Howarth, we must have that will.'

'It never was much use saying "must" where Twickenham was concerned; I doubt if it'll be much use now. I can employ means to endeavour to make him if you like, though you seemed to resent it when you caught me using them just now. Reggie has gone for Hanc.o.c.k. He'll be able to tell you to what extent pressure may be applied to obtain the end you have in view.--Here is Reggie; and Hanc.o.c.k too.'

They entered as I spoke. Reggie hastened towards me.

'Any change, Douglas?--Ah, Foster, so you've come.--This is my brother, Sir Gregory, in the bed.'

Hanc.o.c.k surveyed him through his gold-rimmed spectacles. We waited in silence for his verdict.

'Asleep?--Changed; but I should have known him anywhere. He's been a wonderful man.--How long has he been asleep?'

The question was put to me.

'Perhaps five minutes.'

'I doubt if he is asleep.'

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?'