The question took me aback. It suggested an eventuality for which I had made no sort of preparation. If Mr. Montagu Babbacombe took it into his head to let himself go in a 'last will and testament,' I should be in a fix. I arrived at an instant determination.
'I should say not. Any will he might make in his present condition would not be worth the paper it was written on. Of that I am sure.'
I meant Mr. Babbacombe to take the hint. I hoped he would, though I had rather Reggie had not put the question. The young gentleman startled me with another remark which was equally unexpected and undesired.
'I sent in word to old Foster as I came along.'
'You did what?'
My tone expressed not only unmitigated surprise, but also something so closely approaching to dismay, that in turn I startled him.
'What's wrong? Didn't you want me to tell him? He'll have to know.'
'That's true.' A moment's consideration showed me that it was. 'At the same time, I would rather you had consulted me before communicating with him. What did you say?'
'That Twickenham was dying at Cortin's Hotel, and that I was hurrying to him.'
'Then if you told him that, it won't be long before he's here too.'