Catching the listener’s eye he became silent and confused for a moment, then added quickly: 

“I beg your pardon.  I addressed you by the wrong name.  Gammon, I meant to say.  Gammon, my wife’s friend, a thoroughly honest man.  Have I made myself clear, Gammon?  I—­you see how the matter stands?”

Gammon was beginning to see that the matter stood in a perilous position, and that the sooner Mr. Cuthbertson—­if such a person existed—­could be brought on to the scene the better for every one concerned.  He asked himself whether he ought to summon Mrs. Clover.  His glance towards the door must have betrayed his thought, for the sick man spoke as though in reply to it.

“We will say nothing to her yet, if you please.  I—­I begin to feel a little better.  Our long confidential talk has done me good.  By the by, Greenacre—­I beg your pardon, Gammon—­you quite understand that it is all in the strictest confidence.  I trust you implicitly as my dear wife’s friend; it is all in her interests, as you see.  I think now, if you would kindly get a cab—­yes, I feel quite equal to it now—­we will go to Lowndes Mansions.”

The voice was thin, husky, senile; but his tone had more of rationality, and he appeared to have made up his mind to a course of action.  Gammon presently went downstairs and told Mrs. Clover that her husband wished to go into town on business.  She made no objection, but asked whether Gammon would take the responsibility of looking after him.  This he promised.  Whether the man would return hither or not was left uncertain.

“If he goes to his own house,” said Gammon, “I’ll see him safe there and let you know.  He lives in the West End.  Now don’t upset yourself; if he doesn’t come back you shall know where he is, and if you want to you shall go and see him.  I promise you that.  I know all about him, and so shall you; so just keep yourself quiet.  He’ll have to go to bed and stay there; anyone can see that.  If you take my advice you’ll let us go out quietly and not speak to him.  Just trust to me, Mrs. Clover.”

“Do you think he’s right in his mind?” she asked.

“Well, he’s very shaky, and ought to be kept quiet.  What has he told you?”

“Nothing at all; he sat crying for an hour last night, and talked about the old times.  When I asked questions he put me off.  And when I went into his room this morning he said nothing except that he wanted to see you, and that he must have some brandy for his cold.”

“All right; let us leave the house quietly, and I’ll see you again to-day or to-morrow.  Oh, I say, has a man called Greenacre been here at any time?”

“I don’t know anyone of that name,” answered Mrs. Clover as she turned distressfully away.

A cab was summoned, and Gammon, having helped the sick man to clothe himself warmly in overcoat and muffler, led him from the house.  They drove straightway to Lowndes Mansions.