"I thank you, Sir," he said, in a deep, quiet voice, whose tone had changed. "I know that you could have refused me this favor, since I am your prisoner."
"My dear friend"—answered the Doctor, but the "Rajah" paid no further attention to him.
"I sent for you," he said, turning to Michael Petroff, "in order that you may write down my last will and testament."
"I am at your disposal," answered Michael Petroff, bowing slightly.
"Then write what I tell you."
Michael Petroff felt in his pockets confusedly. "I will run," said he, "I will be back at once"—and he left the room rapidly, to bring pencil and paper from his office.
"Michael Petroff—" whispered the little lawyer pleadingly. "You are leaving me—?"
"The 'Rajah' commands me!" answered Michael Petroff impatiently, and hurried past the trembling lawyer's little outstretched hands back to the dying man's room.
"Here I am, pardon me?" he stammered breathlessly.
"Then write!" said the "Rajah."