After this, owing to certain instructions which Mr Blackford gave to his staff, Willoughby found it surprisingly difficult to obtain a satisfactory interview with his solicitor. If he made an appointment by letter, Mr Blackford had always been unavoidably called out, and the time of his return was certain only in that it would be very late. If the client called unexpectedly, he always found the lawyer putting on his hat and gloves in a violent hurry, to attend some important appointment; and the interview was restricted to a short conversation as they walked through the streets, with ready assistance at hand on all sides. Willoughby’s manner under this treatment grew more and more unsatisfactory. Jobson, the clerk, who knew nothing of the business in hand, never suspected the visitor’s peculiar condition, and cheerfully assured him, according to orders, that all was going on well. But this did not satisfy him; and on the few occasions of his seeing the lawyer in person, he made that gentleman extremely uncomfortable by the growing gloom and wildness of his looks, and by persistent references to the hints of treachery which his mysterious foes continued to throw out. Suddenly, he discontinued his visits. A fortnight went by, during which he made no sign; and then something happened which drove him entirely out of Mr Blackford’s mind. This was the receipt of a letter written by Lucy Wedlake, at the request of her uncle, who wished to see his solicitor at once on important business. It was added that Mr Franklin had been seriously ill, but was now much better, and it was hoped that with care he would soon recover. Mr Blackford found his client in his bedroom, propped up with pillows in a chair by the fireside. It was evident at the first glance that he had received a heavy blow. His face was anxious and watchful, like that of one who expects from hour to hour the advent of a dreaded enemy, and fears to be taken unprepared. It was with little trace of his ordinary rough irritability, and with a tremulous and feeble voice, that he bade the solicitor sit down, for there was a deal to talk about. He had had ‘an attack,’ he said; the doctors told him it was the heart, and he must be very careful. They had to say something for their money, of course; still, it might be true. We must all go some time; and his time might be short. He had committed an injustice, which must be put right at once. His niece had done her duty by him, and he had broken his promise to her. It was his wish to make a fresh will at once, leaving her the whole of his property, according to his original intention.