As he spoke, there came a sharp ring at the front-door bell.
"I expect this is Ritchie," I said. "Now we shall find out what the trouble is."
It was not the doctor, however, that the girl announced when she came into the room a minute later.
"If you please, sir," she said, "Mr. Furnivall has called. I have shown him into the dining-room."
For a moment I wondered who the deuce this new visitor might be; then I suddenly remembered that "Maurice Furnivall" was the name of Northcote's cousin, about whose good faith my double seemed to cherish certain dark suspicions.
"Very well," I said, "I'll come up. If Dr. Ritchie calls while Mr. Furnivall is here, ask him to look in before he goes."
I mounted the stairs again, feeling just a little apprehensive about the approaching interview. I was still too new to my position to have complete confidence in my likeness to Northcote, amazingly successful as it had been up to now; and, with the possible exception of Milford, Maurice Furnivall seemed the most likely person to detect any shade of difference. However, this feeling lent a spice to the situation, and when I entered the dining-room it was with a certain sense of amused elation.
I took an immediate dislike to Master Maurice the moment I set eyes on him. A tall, sleek, well-groomed young gentleman, with black hair carefully parted in the middle and plastered down on each side, he was lounging comfortably in the arm-chair which I had lately vacated.
"Hullo," he drawled, "you're uncommon early this morning. What's up?"
"Milford's seedy," I said a little curtly.