This morning Mercer's face was less pink, and his pale eyes were paler, Kent thought. Also he started to sprinkle sugar on his eggs in place of salt.
Kent laughed and stopped his hand. "You may sugar my eggs when I'm dead, Mercer," he said, "but while I'm alive I want salt on 'em! Do you know, old man, you look bad this morning. Is it because this is my last breakfast?"
"I hope not, sir, I hope not," replied Mercer quickly. "Indeed, I hope you are going to live, sir."
"Thanks!" said Kent dryly. "Where is Cardigan?"
"The Inspector sent a messenger for him, sir. I think he has gone to see him. Are your eggs properly done, sir?"
"Mercer, if you ever worked in a butler's pantry, for the love of heaven forget it now!" exploded Kent, "I want you to tell me something straight out. How long have I got?"
Mercer fidgeted for a moment, and a shade or two more of the red went out of his face. "I can't say, sir. Doctor Cardigan hasn't told me. But I think not very long, sir. Doctor Cardigan is cut up all in rags this morning. And Father Layonne is coming to see you at any moment."
"Much obliged," nodded Kent, calmly beginning his second egg. "And, by the way, what did you think of the young lady?"
"Ripping, positively ripping!" exclaimed Mercer.
"That's the word," agreed Kent. "Ripping. It sounds like the calico counter in a dry-goods store, but means a lot. Don't happen to know where she is staying or why she is at the Landing, do you?"