“Pooh!” exclaimed Sherwood.  “In a few days you’ll be an independent man.—­Yes, yes, I know that you’ll have only a small capital, when things are settled; but it’s just people with a small capital that we want to enlist; the very poor and the well-to-do will be no use to us.  It’s too late to-night to go into details.  We have time to talk, plenty of time.  That you will join us, I feel sure.  Wait till you’ve had time to think about it.  For my own part, I’ve found the work of my life, and I’m the happiest man living!”

He walked round and round the table, waving his arms, and Warburton, after regarding him curiously, mused again, but without a smile.

CHAPTER 31

Behind his counter next morning, Will thought over Sherwood’s story, and laughed to himself wonderingly.  Not that any freak of his old partner’s—­of the man whom he had once regarded as, above all, practical and energetic—­could now surprise him; but it seemed astonishing that Godfrey should have persuaded a man of solid means, even a Celt, to pledge himself to such an enterprise Was the story true?  Did Milligan really exist?  If any doubt were possible on this point, did it not also throw suspicion on the story of Strangwyn, and the ten thousand pounds?  Will grew serious at the reflection.  He had never conceived a moment’s distrust of Sherwood’s honesty, nor did his misgiving now take that form; the question which troubled him throughout to-day was—­whether Godfrey Sherwood might be a victim of delusions.  Certainly he had a very strange look; that haggard face, those brilliant eyes—­

So disquieting was the suspicion that, at dosing time, Will could no longer resist an impulse to betake himself to Morley’s Hotel.  Sherwood had said that Milligan was there only for a few days, until the wealthy Irishman could find a furnished house suitable to his needs whilst he remained in London.  Arrived at the hotel, he inquired for his friend; Sherwood had dined and gone out.  Will hesitated a moment, then asked whether Mr. Milligan was to be seen.  Mr. Milligan, he learnt, had gone out with Mr. Sherwood.  So Milligan did exist.  Will’s relief at settling this point banished his doubts on all the others.  He turned westward again, and through a night of soft, warm rain walked all the way to his lodgings.

On the third day after, late in the evening, Sherwood paid him a second visit.  Godfrey was in high spirits.  He announced that Milligan had taken a house near the Marble Arch, where he also, as secretary, would have his quarters, and that already a meeting had been convened of the leading London vegetarians.  Things were splendidly in train.  Then he produced an evening newspaper, with a paragraph, which spoke of the serious illness of Mr. Strangwyn; recovery, it was said, could hardly be hoped for.

“What’s more,” cried Sherwood.  “I’ve seen Ted Strangwyn himself.  Nobody could behave better.  The old man, he assured me, couldn’t last more than a day or two, and he promised—­quite spontaneously, I didn’t say a word—­to pay his debt in full as soon as ever his father’s will was proved, which will be done as quickly as possible.  —­And now, have you thought over what I said the other night?”