"It is Lord Ascot, my lord. He insists on seeing you immediately."
"Up with him, Simpson—up with him, my good fellow. I told you so. This gets interesting."
Lord Ascot was already in the doorway. Lord Saltire's brain was as acute as ever; and as Lord Ascot approached him, he peered eagerly and curiously at him, in the same way as one scrutinises the seal of an unopened letter, and wonders what its contents may be. Lord Ascot sat down by the bed, and whispered to the old man; and, when Simpson saw his great coarse, red, hairless, ruffianly face actually touching that of Lord Saltire, so delicate, so refined, so keen, Simpson began to have a dim suspicion that he was looking on rather a remarkable sight. And so he was.
"Lord Saltire," said Lord Ascot, "I have seen Charles Ravenshoe to-night."
"You are quite sure?"
"I am quite sure."
"Ha! Ring the bell, Simpson." Before any one had spoken again, a footman was in the room. "Bring the major-domo here instantly," said Lord Saltire.
"You know what you have done, Ascot," said Lord Saltire. "You see what you have done. I am going to send for my solicitor, and alter my will."
"Of course you are," said Lord Ascot. "Do you dream I did not know that before I came here?"