All three gazed long at the impassive face.
'Of course they were,' said John, coldly discouraging. Leonora made no remark.
The unblinking eyes of Uncle Meshach continued to stare upwards and outwards, indifferently, interested in the ceiling. Outside could be heard the creaking of stairs, and the affrighted whisper of the maids as they descended in deshabillé from their attics at the bidding of this unconscious, cynical, and sardonic enigma on the bed.
'His heart is beating faintly.'
Old Dr. Hawley dropped the antique stethoscope back into the pocket of his tight dress coat, and, still bending over Uncle Meshach, but turning slightly towards John and Leonora, smiled with all his invincible jollity.
'Is it, by Jove?' John exclaimed.
'You thought he was dead?' said the doctor, beaming.
Leonora nodded.
'Well, he isn't,' the doctor announced with curt cheerfulness.