“And the result,” said the lawyer impatiently. “The result is that we lost half an hour on the road! Does your man drink, Mr. Stephen?”
“Drink! Slummers drink!” murmured Stephen. “A most steady, respectable—I may say conscientious—man.”
“He may be conscientious, but he’s a very bad driver. I never saw such a clumsy fellow. He drove into a ditch half a mile after we had started.”
“Dear, dear,” murmured Stephen regretfully. “Poor Slummers. It is not his fault. He is a worthy fellow, but too sympathetic, and my uncle’s illness quite upset him——”
“Hush!” interrupted Mr. Hudsley, holding up his finger and bending down.
“Squire, do you know me? I am Hudsley.”
The dying man moved his hand faintly in assent.
“Yes. Have you done as I told you?”
“You have told me nothing yet.”
“The safe!—the key!—the pillow!” said the Squire.