Soon after breakfast, on the following morning, Doctor Bardolf was shown into Jacob’s sitting-room. He held his watch in his hand. Outside the house, the engine of his great automobile was purring gently.

“No change, Mr. Pratt,” he announced. “All the symptoms, however, continue to be decidedly favourable.”

“Capital!” Jacob exclaimed. “When shall you be here again?”

“I am coming in this afternoon, simply in case that slight alteration in my patient’s condition should have occurred, which will enable you to visit him. I rather gather, from certain indications, that the change is close at hand.”

“Very considerate of you, I am sure, Doctor,” Jacob observed gratefully.

“In the meantime, Mr. Pratt,” the physician enquired, replacing his watch in his waistcoat pocket, “can I be of any service to you? Your brother is a personal friend of mine as well as a patient, and I should like to show you any attention agreeable to you. Would you care, for instance, to see over one of our big hospitals?”

“I’m not keen about it,” Jacob admitted frankly. Doctor Bardolf smiled.

“Like your brother, Mr. Jacob,” he remarked, “you’re candid, I see. I’m afraid I sometimes let my professional predilections run away with me. I’ll send you cards, if you will allow me, for two clubs I think you would like to see something of, and if you’ll do me the honour of dining with me one night, as soon as your brother’s condition has shown the change we are waiting for, I shall be honoured.”

“Very kind of you – delighted,” Jacob murmured.

Whereupon the physician took his leave and was succeeded within a very few moments by Morse. The latter bowed to Jacob and rather ignored Felixstowe’s frivolous salutation.

“Mr. Pratt,” he begged, “can I have a few words with you on business?”

“Certainly,” Jacob assented. “That’s what I’m here for. Sit down, do.”

The secretary accepted an easy-chair but waved away the proffered cigar.

“I guess you fully understand, sir,” he began, “how important it is to keep your brother’s condition absolutely secret. The moment the change that the doctor is looking for takes place, we shall give it out that he has returned from the Adirondacks with a slight fever and is compelled to rest for a day or two. Until then, we’ve got to bluff for all we are worth.”

“I am rather taking your word for this,” Jacob said. “In my country, the stock market is not quite so sensitive as regards personalities.”

“Mighty good thing, too,” Morse remarked approvingly. “Down in Wall Street, some one only has to start a rumour that the chairman of one of the great railway companies is sick, and the stock of that company slides a notch or two before you know where you are. However, to return to my point,” he continued, leaning forward in his chair and becoming more earnest in his manner, “your brother, Mr. Pratt, is a very prominent figure in Wall Street. As his partner, you can form a pretty fair idea as to what his monthly profits are. At first he was absolutely driven by circumstances to be a large operator upon the stock markets. Nowadays, this has become one of his favourite hobbies.”

“Does he gain or lose by it?” Jacob enquired.

“He makes money,” Morse replied. “But then he never gambles – what we should call gambling in this country. He only deals in the sound things, and if the market sags he simply holds on. That brings me, sir, to the principal reason why I was glad to see you over on this side. Three days before he was taken ill, your brother cleaned up a little deal by which he made the best part of half a million dollars and opened a very large account in railroads. The last word he said to me on business was that he guessed he’d have to find the best part of a million dollars before he began to draw in the profits, for, owing to conditions with which you don’t need to worry, all railway stocks have fallen during the last two weeks.”

“I noticed that in the papers,” Jacob admitted.

“Last week,” Morse continued, “I went around to see the brokers, Worstead and Jones of Wall Street, and they agreed to carry over without hesitation. This week the differences come to six hundred and twenty-eight thousand dollars, and by an inviolable law of Exchange the money has to be found. The stocks, as you will see from the list which I have here, are the best in the States. Your brother himself knew that the recovery would not be till the beginning of next month. This illness of his was so unexpected, however, that he had no time to make any provision for paying these differences. We have a matter of seven million dollars on deposit at various banks in the city, but I can’t touch those amounts and no more could you, as they are part of Mr. Samuel’s private fortune. What I want you to do, sir, if you don’t mind being so kind, is to take up these differences this week, and if a further drop should take place before next settlement, you and I and Mr. Samuel’s legal adviser can apply to the Courts for a power of attorney.”

“I came over to help in every possible way,” Jacob reflected, “and I have credit for about that amount at the First National Bank. You want a cheque, then, for – ”

“Dear me, no, Mr. Pratt!” the other interrupted. “I don’t figure in this. To-morrow, by the first mail, we shall get the stockbroker’s note showing the exact difference. If you will draw your cheque then, payable to the stockbrokers, they will give you a receipt. The moment Mr. Samuel can hold a pen, we can transfer the amount back again to your credit. The only point is that your cheque must be on an American bank, so that the actual cash can be handled.”

“As it happens, that can be arranged,” Jacob promised. “You can rely upon me, Mr. Morse.”

“That’s very kind of you indeed, Mr. Pratt,” Morse declared heartily. “I have a heavy mail to attend to this morning, so if you’ll excuse me I’ll be getting on with it now,” he added, rising to his feet. “I have ordered the car for you and Lord Felixstowe. You will find the chauffeur an exceedingly intelligent man, and he will take you around New York and show you some of the things you ought to see. I should suggest luncheon at the Ritz-Carlton or the Plaza.”

“That sounds all right,” Jacob assented. “I beg that you won’t worry about us. We can look after ourselves quite well.”

“And you’ll be back by four o’clock to see Doctor Bardolf,” Morse enjoined. “You won’t forget that he is an exceedingly punctual man.”

“We’ll be back on time without fail,” Jacob promised.

Jacob and his companion spent the morning very much in the manner suggested. The latter was much quieter than usual, so much so that in the lounge after luncheon at the Ritz-Carlton, Jacob commented upon his silence.

“Lose your heart last night, Felix?” he enquired.

“I’m a slow-mover with the fillies, worse luck!” the young man answered, shaking his head. “I wasn’t as blind as I seemed, either. I am going to try and get our demure friend with the blinkers out on the razzle-dazzle again to-night.”

“Not sure that I approve,” Jacob said. “I don’t think Morse cares much about that sort of thing, either.”

“I’m not entirely convinced, you know,” Felixstowe observed, “that we’ve quite got the hang of that fellow.”

“In what way?” Jacob enquired.

“Well,” his young companion continued, stretching himself out in the chair and lighting a fresh cigarette, “between you and me, Mr. Morse was pretty well-known at the low haunts we dropped in at last night. You can tell when a Johnny’s at home and when he isn’t, you know, and I saw him looking at me once or twice when they called him by his Christian name, for instance, as though he hoped I wasn’t catching on.”

“That seems quite reasonable,” Jacob observed. “Sam’s a pretty broadminded chap, but I dare say he wouldn’t like the idea of his secretary being a frequenter of all sorts of night haunts.”

“One for yours truly, eh?”

“Not at all. You are more a companion than a secretary, so far, and besides, you haven’t control over my finances. What have you been studying that directory for?”

Lord Felixstowe laid down the massive volume which he had just borrowed from the office clerk.

“Been looking ’em all up,” he confided. “Doctor Brand Bardolf, Physician, Number 1001 West Fifty-seventh Street – he’s there, with letters enough after his name to make a mess of the whole alphabet. Sydney Morse – he’s there, same address as Samuel Pratt. And the stockbrokers, Worstead and Jones, Number 202 Wall Street.”

“What made you look them all up?” Jacob asked curiously.

“I’m damned if I know,” was the candid reply. “All the same, I’m here to look after you a bit, you know, old dear, and when you’re parting with the dibs to the tune of a hundred thousand quid, you need some one around with his weather eye open.”

Jacob smiled tolerantly.

“That’s all right, Felix,” he agreed, “but remember I’m parting with it under my brother’s roof, to his own stockbrokers, on the advice of his own private secretary and physician. Morse wouldn’t even have the cheque made payable to him.”

“Looks as right as a trivet,” the young man assented, “but I’m one of those chaps with instincts, you know, and I’m damned if I like Morse. I shall try and get him canned to-night.”

“I beg that you won’t do any such thing,” Jacob objected hastily. “It is probably most necessary for my brother’s interests that he should remain in good health. Besides, you’ll get into trouble yourself if you don’t mind.”

A smile almost of pity parted the young man’s lips.

“Don’t you worry,” he murmured. “It’d take half a dozen Morses, and then some, to sew me up.”

CHAPTER XXVII

It seemed to Jacob, when he was awakened from a sound sleep about four o’clock the next morning, that his young companion’s farewell words had been vainglorious. He was first of all conscious of the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs, then the opening of Lord Felixstowe’s door, and the muffled tramp of two men evidently carrying some sort of a burden. A few seconds later there was an apologetic knock at his own door, and Morse presented himself. His evening attire was slightly ruffled, he was not remarkably steady upon his feet, and his speech was a little less precise than usual. Otherwise, he showed no signs of a night of dissipation.

“Forgive my disturbing you, Mr. Pratt,” he said, “but I thought I had better just let you know that we’ve had a little trouble with his young lordship this evening.”

“You mean, I suppose,” Jacob observed, “that he’s had too much to drink?”

Morse coughed – then hiccoughed and drew himself up with preternatural gravity.

“Lord Felixstowe was certainly a little indiscreet,” he admitted. “He has a very good head for a young man, but he would insist upon cocktails after champagne.”

“Where is he now?”

“Lying down in his room. The chauffeur and I carried him up, and he will be quite all right in the morning. I’ll take the liberty of sending a little draught round about breakfast time.”

“Silly young ass!” Jacob yawned. “Thank you, Mr. Morse, and good night.”

“Good night, Mr. Pratt.”

Jacob, after a few minutes’ reflection, swung out of bed, put on his dressing gown, and made his way into the adjoining apartment. Lord Felixstowe, fully dressed, was lying upon the bed, breathing heavily. Jacob approached and stood over him. His tie had gone altogether, there were wine stains upon his shirt front, his hair, generally so beautifully smooth, was in wild disorder.

“You bragging young donkey!” Jacob scoffed. “He’s put it across you all right.”

The young man suddenly turned his head. There was a contraction of his left eyelid. He solemnly winked.

“I don’t think!” he said. “Turn on the taps in the bathroom, old dear. I’m going to have a soak.”

“Do you mean to say that you’re shamming?” Jacob exclaimed.

“How did you guess it! A hot bath and a small whisky and soda, and I shall drop off to sleep in a twinkling. But, Jacob, my lord and master,” Felixstowe enjoined earnestly, as he commenced to throw off his clothes, “don’t you try it on with them. I thought some of the lads from our own village could shift the stuff a bit when they were up against it, but, believe me, we do no more than gargle our throats over in London. When it comes to the real thing, they’ve got us beaten to a frazzle. Tuck yourself into bed, old thing, and don’t you worry about me. What a house to stay in!” the young man concluded, with a little burst of enthusiasm, as he pointed to the decanter of whisky, the soda water, and the silver ice tray set out upon a small table. “Jacob, when your brother rises from his bed of sickness, I shall grasp his hand and salute him as the lord of hosts. Absolutely clinking! Tophole!”

The young man disappeared into the bathroom, and Jacob, reassured but a little bewildered, went back to bed. To all appearance, Felixstowe was perfectly sober. Nevertheless, when breakfast was served the next morning, Jacob found himself alone.

“Have you told Lord Felixstowe?” he enquired of the butler.

“His lordship went out some time ago, sir,” the man replied, with a faint smile. “He left word that he had gone to the chemist’s.”

Jacob, somewhat puzzled, finished his breakfast without comment. He was halfway through a cigar afterwards when the butler reappeared.

“Mr. Morse’s compliments, sir, and will you step down to the library and see Doctor Bardolf?”

Jacob made his way to the very sumptuous room on the ground floor, which his brother when at home had christened his business room. The physician, who was waiting there, shook hands with him warmly. His manner this morning seemed a little more friendly and a little less professional. He had the air of a man for whom a period of some mental strain has ended.

“Your brother will pull through, sir,” he announced. “There is a marked improvement this morning.”

“I am delighted,” Jacob said heartily.

“I think that by to-morrow or the next day you will be able to see him, and I feel confident that Mr. Morse will be able to get his signature to any cheque or document required.”

“I have been trying to persuade the doctor,” Morse intervened, “to let me make out a cheque for this amount,” – drawing a statement from his pocket, – “and guide Mr. Samuel’s hand while he signed it. Then we need not trouble you in the matter at all.”

The physician seemed to consider the point.

“On the whole,” he decided, “my patient is a man of such wealth that I don’t think it is advisable to run the slightest risk where a financial question is concerned. Mr. Samuel Pratt is a very old friend of mine, and if a few hundred thousand dollars or so are any convenience, Mr. Morse – ”

“Certainly not,” Jacob interrupted. “I am sure my brother will be glad to hear of your offer, Doctor, but I am on the spot and I can easily manage anything that is required. Let me have that statement, Mr. Morse.”

The secretary passed over a stockbroker’s statement from Messrs. Worstead and Jones, showing a balance of six hundred and eighty-two thousand four hundred and twenty dollars. Jacob drew out his cheque book. Morse watched him indifferently as he wrote.

“I’m afraid his lordship is not feeling quite himself this morning,” he observed. “Sorry he troubled to go round to the druggist’s. I could have fixed him up something myself. We had – ”

The door opened softly. Felixstowe crossed the threshold, smiling amiably. He was dressed with his usual precision in a blue serge suit, a regimental tie, and wonderfully polished brown shoes. His Homburg hat, which he removed as he entered, was just a shade on one side. He looked the picture of health.

“Good morning, everybody,” he said genially, closing the door behind him. “Just in the nick of time, eh?”

“In the nick of time for what?” Jacob asked, turning around.

“To stop your signing that cheque.”

Jacob stared at the newcomer in amazement. Neither the physician nor Morse uttered a syllable. Their eyes were fixed upon the young man.

“Hearken now to the tale of the sleuthhound,” the latter continued, setting down his hat, cane and gloves upon the sideboard and thrusting his hands into his trousers pockets. “Fact is, I just toddled round to Number 1001 West Fifty-seventh Street this morning, and I’ve been having a chat with Doctor Bardolf.”

“What are you talking about?” Jacob demanded. “Doctor Bardolf is here.”

“Oh, no, he isn’t!” the young man retorted pleasantly. “Or, as I should say in the vernacular of this amazing country, I guess not! This gentleman gives a very creditable rendering of the part, but he is no more Doctor Bardolf than the Johnny upstairs is Mr. Samuel Pratt. The fact is, Jacob, the whole thing is a layout, and you’ve been very nearly pinched.”

Doctor Bardolf picked up his hat with dignity.

“I do not understand your young countryman’s phraseology,” he said, turning towards the door.

“He isn’t sober yet!” Morse gasped, with a frightened look in his eyes.

Felixstowe’s slim young form seemed to expand.

“You stay where you are,” he ordered the pseudo-physician sternly. “This is about the hang of the thing, Jacob. Your brother went to the Adirondacks, all right, leaving his house here in the charge of Morse, whom, like a fool, he seems to have trusted. Morse planned the rest of it. Not so difficult, either. He couldn’t get at any of your brother Samuel’s oof, so he cabled to you, dismissed the servants whom he couldn’t bring into the job, and got this chap Worstead, who is a ruined stockbroker, to play the part of the physician. Damned good scheme, too! – Hullo!”

The door had opened a little abruptly, and a small man, bearing an unmistakable resemblance to Jacob, had entered. His cheeks were sunburnt, and he had the unkempt appearance of one who has been living in the backwoods.

“Jacob!” the newcomer exclaimed enthusiastically, holding out both his hands. “Welcome to New York!”

Jacob felt a little dazed.

“You haven’t been ill at all then, Samuel?”

“Ill?” the other repeated contemptuously. “I was never better in my life. What’s it all about?”

Morse threw up the sponge, and Worstead, alias Bardolf, followed suit.

“He led me into this mess,” the former declared, shaking his fist at Worstead. “Got me gambling on differences, and when I couldn’t pay he cooked up this joint. It’s the first time I haven’t run straight, Mr. Pratt, and I didn’t touch any of your money, anyway.”

“So there’s been some crooked business, eh?” Samuel Pratt remarked. “Will some one tell me exactly what’s happened?”

Felixstowe gently intervened.

“You’ll pick the whole thing up by degrees,” he said, “but this is the long and short of it. Your brother Jacob gets a cable over in England, sent by Morse here, to say that you are dangerously ill. Out we come, first steamer. Morse meets us, brings us here; you are supposed to be upstairs with a hospital nurse, too ill to be seen. A financial crisis arises and Jacob is asked to find a trifle of six hundred thousand dollars to pay some differences on your account. The dear boy was on the point of signing his cheque when I popped in and put the kybosh on it.”

“But what on earth made you suspicious?” Jacob demanded.

“First night we were out together,” Felixstowe continued, “I began to tumble to it that Morse here had a pretty considerable acquaintance amongst the crooks. Then he dropped a note from you, Mr. Pratt, saying that you were staying three or four days at the Touraine Hotel in Boston, on your way home, so I slipped out and sent that dispatch to you on the chance. Last night again he made one or two bloomers, so this morning I just hopped round to Doctor Bardolf’s address, and that, of course, busted the whole show.”

“Make me out a list of the people in my household associated with you in this,” his employer ordered Morse sternly, “and bring it to my den immediately. – Stay where you are, Worstead. I shall treat you both alike. – Jacob,” he added, indicating Felixstowe, “who is this remarkably intelligent young man?”

“My secretary,” Jacob replied.

“Name of Felixstowe,” the young man observed, holding out his hand with a winning smile. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Samuel Pratt.”

Samuel passed a hand through the arm of each.

“Come right along with me, boys, to my den, where the still waters flow,” he invited. “We’ll talk over the business quietly. Bring me the list I asked for in five minutes, Morse, and you’d better induce Mr. Worstead to take a seat and wait quietly. I stopped at the station and brought along a couple of plain-clothes men, in case there was any trouble. – This way.”