Biggs came closer.
"Bring a chair and sit down. I must talk to you."
As the old servant again leaned forward, the sufferer hesitated; then with an obvious effort he began.
"Hiram, I am going to give you some instructions which you must obey to the letter. Will you promise to keep them?"
"I swear it, sir," with great earnestness.
"Good! Now, if this fever seals my lips and the doctor pronounces me dead——"
"Please, sir," Biggs broke in, tears streaming down his furrowed cheeks, but his master continued in the same subdued voice, "Whatever happens, I am not to be embalmed—do you hear me?—not embalmed, but just laid away as I am now."
"Yes, sir," in a choked voice, which fully betrayed the breaking heart behind it.
"And now, Hiram, the rest of the secret." He paused and beckoned Biggs to lean closer.
"In my vault—in the mausoleum, I have had an electric button installed. That button connects with a silver bell. Lift up that small picture of Napoleon, there upon the wall."