“Very well.”
Dr. Lucian went upstairs.
The pawnbroker was sitting at the round table in the middle of the room, and he was reading in the very large Bible that had always lain there.
“I’m glad you’ve come,” he observed to Dr. Lucian without preamble. “I was going to send you a message.”
“I’m afraid you’re a sick man, Mr. Smith.”
“Maybe, maybe. But it’s your signature I want. I’ve made my will. I’ll tell you what’s in it, if you like.”
“That’s not necessary, unless you wish it. Do you want me to sign it now?”
“‘Work while it is day for the night cometh when no man can work.’ Unless I am greatly mistaken—and let me tell you that I am scarcely ever mistaken—that night is not very far away now. Call the lad Felix, and tell him to send the girl here. She can witness with you.”
The doctor obediently went to the head of the stairs, and after delivering his message, delayed his return into the room until all sounds resembling the careful extraction of papers from a secret place by an aged and determined person had ceased.
An immense length of foolscap lay on the table, all but a strip of which was covered with pink blotting paper.