"Do you mind, sir?"
"Not at all. Just a moment, though."
He stooped to feel the pulse, reached for the needle and shot in a second injection. Its effect was instantaneous. The dying man's eyes brightened; a very faint tinge of color glowed in his ashen face.
"I'm afraid that second shot will hasten the end," the surgeon muttered to me, "but it will give the poor old fellow more strength while he lasts. Make the most of your opportunity."
He shepherded his assistants outside the screen, and Hugh pulled me to my knees beside him.
"This is Jack Nash, Uncle James," he said, speaking slowly and distinctly. "He is my friend—your friend. He will be with me in whatever I have to do for you."
Lord Chesby's eyes, a clear gray they were, examined me closely.
"Looks—right." The syllables trickled almost soundless from his lips. "It's—treasure—Hugh." His eyes burned momentarily with triumph. "Know—where—"
"But who stabbed you?"
I have often wondered what would have happened if Hugh had let him talk on of the treasure, instead of switching the subject.