This was so like Twickenham that it set me thinking. Indeed, as the conversation between the pair proceeded I became more and more puzzled to find an answer to the question--Who is the man in the bed? Foster stuck to his guns.
'Has your lordship made a will?'
'I hate wills.'
'Possibly; yet they are necessary instruments. If you have not already made a will, you must make one now. Your lordship will tell me how you wish matters to stand. I will draw up a brief, yet sufficient form, which you can complete at once.'
'Kick him, Doug.'
This was again so like Twickenham that I had no option but to smile. Foster surveyed me with grave disapprobation. He drew me a little apart.
'This is no laughing matter, Mr. Howarth. I believe you represent Lord Reginald's interests. I can only tell you that they will be very seriously imperilled if we are not able to show that he has been formally appointed his brother's heir. You have witnessed the Marquis's refusal to answer my question as to whether he is or is not married. What meaning does that refusal convey to your mind?'
'None whatever. It's just Twickenham--that's all; and you know it.'
'But suppose he has a wife and children.'
'He hasn't.'