“Greenacre,” his lordship kept repeating, “I trust you implicitly.  I am convinced you have my interests at heart.  When all is settled I shall show myself grateful—­believe me.”

Between seven and eight o’clock they drove up to a house on Streatham Hill, and without consulting Lord Polperro, Gammon went to parley at the door.  Ill luck pursued them.  Mr. Cuthbertson was dining in town, and could not be home till late.  When made to understand this Lord Polperro passed from lethargy to violent agitation.

“We must go back at once!” he exclaimed.  “To Lowndes Mansions at once Greenacre, tell him to drive straight to Sloane Street.  You don’t know what depends upon it.  We must lose not a moment.”

The cabman consented, and the return journey began at a good speed.  When Gammon, out of regard for the invalid’s condition, insisted on having the window of the hansom dropped, Lord Polperro grumbled and lamented.  The cool air did him good; he was beginning to breathe more easily than he had done for a long time.

“You are too imperious with me, Greenacre.  I have noticed it in you before.  You take too much upon yourself.”

“I suppose it’s no use telling you once more,” said his companion, “that my name isn’t Greenacre.”

“Dear me! dear me!  I beg your pardon a thousand times.  I meant to say Gammon.  I can’t tell you, Gammon, how much I feel your kindness.  But for you I should never have managed all this in my state of health.  You don’t mind coming home with me?”

“Of course not.  What are you going to do when you get there?”

“I told you, my dear Gammon, it shall be done this very night, whether I have news or not.  I shall see Cuthbertson the first thing to-morrow, and get him to draw the deed of gift.  That settles everything; no gossip, no scandal, if anything should happen.  Life is so uncertain, and as you see I am in anything but robust health.  Yes, it shall be done this very night.”

Tired of futile questioning Gammon resolved to wait and see what was done, though it seemed to him more than likely that nothing at all would come of these vehement expressions.  At all events Lord Polperro was now wide awake, and seemed in no danger of relapsing into the semi-comatose or semi-delirious condition.  He no longer addressed his companion by the name of Greenacre; his talk was marked with a rational reserve; he watched the course of their drive along the highways of South London, and showed satisfaction as they approached his own district.

The cabman was paid with careless liberality, and Lord Polperro ran up the stairs to his flat.  More strictly speaking, he ran for a few yards, when breath failed him, and it was all he could do to stagger with loud pantings up the rest of the ascent.  Arrived in his sitting-room he sank exhausted on to the nearest chair.  Gammon saw that he pointed feebly to the drink cupboard, and heard a gasp that sounded like “brandy.”