“His lordship went out some time ago, sir,” the man replied, with a faint smile. “He left word that he had gone to the chemist’s.”
Jacob, somewhat puzzled, finished his breakfast without comment. He was halfway through a cigar afterwards when the butler reappeared.
“Mr. Morse’s compliments, sir, and will you step down to the library and see Doctor Bardolf?”
Jacob made his way to the very sumptuous room on the ground floor, which his brother when at home had christened his business room. The physician, who was waiting there, shook hands with him warmly. His manner this morning seemed a little more friendly and a little less professional. He had the air of a man for whom a period of some mental strain has ended.
“Your brother will pull through, sir,” he announced. “There is a marked improvement this morning.”
“I am delighted,” Jacob said heartily.
“I think that by to-morrow or the next day you will be able to see him, and I feel confident that Mr. Morse will be able to get his signature to any cheque or document required.”
“I have been trying to persuade the doctor,” Morse intervened, “to let me make out a cheque for this amount,”—drawing a statement from his pocket,—“and guide Mr. Samuel’s hand while he signed it. Then we need not trouble you in the matter at all.”
The physician seemed to consider the point.
“On the whole,” he decided, “my patient is a man of such wealth that I don’t think it is advisable to run the slightest risk where a financial question is concerned. Mr. Samuel Pratt is a very old friend of mine, and if a few hundred thousand dollars or so are any convenience, Mr. Morse—”