“Then I don’t think anyone else has.”

The man had fallen back upon the pillow.  He began to cough, struggled to raise himself, and became seated on the edge of the bed.

“Well, it’s time we were going.”

“Where to?” asked Gammon.

The other stared at him in surprise and distress.

“Surely I haven’t to tell you all over again!  Weren’t you listening?  You’re a man of business, are you not?  Surely you ought to have a clear head the first thing in the morning.”

“Just tell me again in a word or two.  What can I do for you?  Do you want to see anybody?”

“Yes, yes, I remember.”  He laid a hand on his companion’s shoulder.  “The matter stands thus, Greenacre I trust you implicitly, once more I assure you of that; but it is absolutely necessary for me to see a solicitor.”

“All right.  What’s his name?”

“I’ll tell you, Cuthbertson—­Old Jewry Chambers.  But first of all let us come to an understanding about that man Quodling.  I called upon his brother—­why, I told you all that before, didn’t I?”

“You had just been there when I met you in Norton Folgate,” said Gammon, who felt that before long his own wits would begin to wander.

“To be sure.  And now we really must be going.”

He stood up staggering, gained his balance, and walked to the window.  The prospect thence seemed to recall him to a consciousness of the actual present, and he looked round appealingly, distressfully.

“I tell you what it is,” said Gammon.  “You ought to get into bed and have a doctor.  Shall I help you?”

“No, no; I regret that I came here, Greenacre.  I am not welcome; how could I expect to be?  If I am going to be ill it mustn’t be here.”

“Then let me get a cab and take you to your own place, if your wife is willing.”

“That would be best.  The truth is I feel terribly queer, Greenacre.  Suppose I—­suppose I died here?  Of course, I ought never to have come.  Think of the talk there would be; and that’s just what I wanted to spare them, the talk and the disgrace.  It can all be managed by my solicitor.  But I felt that come I must.  After all, you see, it’s home.  You understand that?  It’s really my home.  I’ve been here often at night, just to see the house.  The wonder is that I didn’t come in before.  Of course, I knew I couldn’t be welcome—­but one’s wife and child, Greenacre.  The real wife, whether the other’s alive or not.”

Gammon started.

“What did you say?” he asked in a whisper.

“Nothing—­nothing.  You are a good fellow, I am sure, and my wife likes you, that’s quite enough.  The point is this now, I must destroy that will, and get Cuthbertson to draw a deed of gift, all in order, you know, but nothing that could get wind and make a scandal.  The will would be publicly known, I ought to have remembered that.  I repeat, Greenacre, that what I have to do is to provide for them both without causing them any trouble or disgrace.”