"Then, sir, you have lighted on the very person who can tell you a good deal of what you want to know."
"Do you mean to say that you are that person, Benny?"
"I am, sir."
"You astonish me. But how do you happen to be able to do what you say?"
"It's very simple, sir. My wife's niece is parlour-maid at No. 22. She pops in on us most Sunday evenings, if it's only for a half-hour, and being in her way as sharp as a needle, there ain't much as escapes her, or that we don't hear about."
"Then can you tell me this: Is my uncle really as ill as her ladyship gives me to understand he is?"
"As I said before, sir, my old master seems to be gradually breaking up. It's not that he's in any pain, or has even a bad cough, or has to keep to his room. It's just, as far as I can make out from what Polly tells us, as if he was slowly fading away--gradually dying out, as a lamp does when the oil begins to run low. All his old go and energy seem to have left him; he's as mild as milk, and could hardly say 'Bo' to a goose. Another bad sign is that nothing seems to tempt his appetite. Polly says, and I suppose she has heard the butler say so, that he doesn't eat as much in the twenty-four hours as a man in fairish appetite will eat at one meal."
"Has he any medical advice?"
"Bless you, yes, sir. Dr. Hoskins calls every day."
"Does he never go out of doors?"