"Lose your heart last night, Felix?" he enquired.

"I'm a slow-mover with the fillies, worse luck!" the young man answered, shaking his head. "I wasn't as blind as I seemed, either. I am going to try and get our demure friend with the blinkers out on the razzle-dazzle again to-night."

"Not sure that I approve," Jacob said. "I don't think Morse cares much about that sort of thing, either."

"I'm not entirely convinced, you know," Felixstowe observed, "that we've quite got the hang of that fellow."

"In what way?" Jacob enquired.

"Well," his young companion continued, stretching himself out in the chair and lighting a fresh cigarette, "between you and me, Mr. Morse was pretty well-known at the low haunts we dropped in at last night.

You can tell when a Johnny's at home and when he isn't, you know, and I saw him looking at me once or twice when they called him by his Christian name, for instance, as though he hoped I wasn't catching on."

"That seems quite reasonable," Jacob observed. "Sam's a pretty broadminded chap, but I dare say he wouldn't like the idea of his secretary being a frequenter of all sorts of night haunts."

"One for yours truly, eh?"

"Not at all. You are more a companion than a secretary, so far, and besides, you haven't control over my finances. What have you been studying that directory for?"

Lord Felixstowe laid down the ma.s.sive volume which he had just borrowed from the office clerk.

"Been looking 'em all up," he confided. "Doctor Brand Bardolf, Physician, Number 1001 West Fifty-seventh Street--he's there, with letters enough after his name to make a mess of the whole alphabet.

Sydney Morse--he's there, same address as Samuel Pratt. And the stockbrokers, Worstead and Jones, Number 202 Wall Street."

"What made you look them all up?" Jacob asked curiously.

"I'm d.a.m.ned if I know," was the candid reply. "All the same, I'm here to look after you a bit, you know, old dear, and when you're parting with the dibs to the tune of a hundred thousand quid, you need some one around with his weather eye open."

Jacob smiled tolerantly.

"That's all right, Felix," he agreed, "but remember I'm parting with it under my brother's roof, to his own stockbrokers, on the advice of his own private secretary and physician. Morse wouldn't even have the cheque made payable to him."

"Looks as right as a trivet," the young man a.s.sented, "but I'm one of those chaps with instincts, you know, and I'm d.a.m.ned if I like Morse.

I shall try and get him canned to-night."

"I beg that you won't do any such thing," Jacob objected hastily. "It is probably most necessary for my brother's interests that he should remain in good health. Besides, you'll get into trouble yourself if you don't mind."

A smile almost of pity parted the young man's lips.

"Don't you worry," he murmured. "It'd take half a dozen Morses, and then some, to sew me up."

CHAPTER XXVII

It seemed to Jacob, when he was awakened from a sound sleep about four o'clock the next morning, that his young companion's farewell words had been vainglorious. He was first of all conscious of the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs, then the opening of Lord Felixstowe's door, and the m.u.f.fled tramp of two men evidently carrying some sort of a burden. A few seconds later there was an apologetic knock at his own door, and Morse presented himself. His evening attire was slightly ruffled, he was not remarkably steady upon his feet, and his speech was a little less precise than usual. Otherwise, he showed no signs of a night of dissipation.

"Forgive my disturbing you, Mr. Pratt," he said, "but I thought I had better just let you know that we've had a little trouble with his young lordship this evening."

"You mean, I suppose," Jacob observed, "that he's had too much to drink?"

Morse coughed--then hiccoughed and drew himself up with preternatural gravity.

"Lord Felixstowe was certainly a little indiscreet," he admitted. "He has a very good head for a young man, but he would insist upon c.o.c.ktails after champagne."

"Where is he now?"

"Lying down in his room. The chauffeur and I carried him up, and he will be quite all right in the morning. I'll take the liberty of sending a little draught round about breakfast time."

"Silly young a.s.s!" Jacob yawned. "Thank you, Mr. Morse, and good night."

"Good night, Mr. Pratt."

Jacob, after a few minutes' reflection, swung out of bed, put on his dressing gown, and made his way into the adjoining apartment. Lord Felixstowe, fully dressed, was lying upon the bed, breathing heavily.

Jacob approached and stood over him. His tie had gone altogether, there were wine stains upon his shirt front, his hair, generally so beautifully smooth, was in wild disorder.

"You bragging young donkey!" Jacob scoffed. "He's put it across you all right."

The young man suddenly turned his head. There was a contraction of his left eyelid. He solemnly winked.

"I don't think!" he said. "Turn on the taps in the bathroom, old dear.

I'm going to have a soak."

"Do you mean to say that you're shamming?" Jacob exclaimed.

"How did you guess it! A hot bath and a small whisky and soda, and I shall drop off to sleep in a twinkling. But, Jacob, my lord and master," Felixstowe enjoined earnestly, as he commenced to throw off his clothes, "don't you try it on with them. I thought some of the lads from our own village could shift the stuff a bit when they were up against it, but, believe me, we do no more than gargle our throats over in London. When it comes to the real thing, they've got us beaten to a frazzle. Tuck yourself into bed, old thing, and don't you worry about me. What a house to stay in!" the young man concluded, with a little burst of enthusiasm, as he pointed to the decanter of whisky, the soda water, and the silver ice tray set out upon a small table.

"Jacob, when your brother rises from his bed of sickness, I shall grasp his hand and salute him as the lord of hosts. Absolutely clinking! Tophole!"

The young man disappeared into the bathroom, and Jacob, rea.s.sured but a little bewildered, went back to bed. To all appearance, Felixstowe was perfectly sober. Nevertheless, when breakfast was served the next morning, Jacob found himself alone.

"Have you told Lord Felixstowe?" he enquired of the butler.

"His lordship went out some time ago, sir," the man replied, with a faint smile. "He left word that he had gone to the chemist's."

Jacob, somewhat puzzled, finished his breakfast without comment. He was halfway through a cigar afterwards when the butler reappeared.

"Mr. Morse's compliments, sir, and will you step down to the library and see Doctor Bardolf?"

Jacob made his way to the very sumptuous room on the ground floor, which his brother when at home had christened his business room. The physician, who was waiting there, shook hands with him warmly. His manner this morning seemed a little more friendly and a little less professional. He had the air of a man for whom a period of some mental strain has ended.

"Your brother will pull through, sir," he announced. "There is a marked improvement this morning."

"I am delighted," Jacob said heartily.

"I think that by to-morrow or the next day you will be able to see him, and I feel confident that Mr. Morse will be able to get his signature to any cheque or doc.u.ment required."

"I have been trying to persuade the doctor," Morse intervened, "to let me make out a cheque for this amount,"--drawing a statement from his pocket,--"and guide Mr. Samuel's hand while he signed it. Then we need not trouble you in the matter at all."