"I tell you what it is," said Gammon. "You ought to get into bed and have a doctor. Shall I help you?" "No, no; I regret that I came here, Greenacre. I am not welcome; how could I expect to be? If I am going to be ill it mustn't be here." "Then let me get a cab and take you to your own place, if your wife is willing." "That would be best. The truth is I feel terribly queer, Greenacre. Suppose I--suppose I died here? Of course, I ought never to have come. Think of the talk there would be; and that's just what I wanted to spare them, the talk and the disgrace. It can all be managed by my solicitor. But I felt that come I must. After all, you see, it's home. You understand that? It's really my home. I've been here often at night, just to see the house. The wonder is that I didn't come in before. Of course, I knew I couldn't be welcome--but one's wife and child, Greenacre. The real wife, whether the other's alive or not." Gammon started. "What did you say?" he asked in a whisper. "Nothing--nothing. You are a good fellow, I am sure, and my wife likes you, that's quite enough. The point is this now, I must destroy that will, and get Cuthbertson to draw a deed of gift, all in order, you know, but nothing that could get wind and make a scandal. The will would be publicly known, I ought to have remembered that. I repeat, Greenacre, that what I have to do is to provide for them both without causing them any trouble or disgrace." Catching the listener's eye he became silent and confused for a moment, then added quickly: "I beg your pardon. I addressed you by the wrong name. Gammon, I meant to say. Gammon, my wife's friend, a thoroughly honest man. Have I made myself clear, Gammon? I--you see how the matter stands?" Gammon was beginning to see that the matter stood in a perilous position, and that the sooner Mr. Cuthbertson--if such a person existed--could be brought on to the scene the better for every one concerned. He asked himself whether he ought to summon Mrs. Clover. His glance towards the door must have betrayed his thought, for the sick man spoke as though in reply to it. "We will say nothing to her yet, if you please. I--I begin to feel a little better. Our long confidential talk has done me good. By the by, Greenacre--I beg your pardon, Gammon--you quite understand that it is all in the strictest confidence. I trust you implicitly as my dear wife's friend; it is all in her interests, as you see. I think now, if you would kindly get a cab--yes, I feel quite equal to it now--we will go to Lowndes Mansions." The voice was thin, husky, senile; but his tone had more of rationality, and he appeared to have made up his mind to a course of action. Gammon presently went downstairs and told Mrs. Clover that her husband wished to go into town on business. She made no objection, but asked whether Gammon would take the responsibility of looking after him. This he promised. Whether the man would return hither or not was left uncertain.