Soon after breakfast, on the following morning, Doctor Bardolf was shown into Jacob’s sitting-room. He held his watch in his hand. Outside the house, the engine of his great automobile was purring gently.

“No change, Mr. Pratt,” he announced. “All the symptoms, however, continue to be decidedly favourable.”

“Capital!” Jacob exclaimed. “When shall you be here again?”

“I am coming in this afternoon, simply in case that slight alteration in my patient’s condition should have occurred, which will enable you to visit him. I rather gather, from certain indications, that the change is close at hand.”

“Very considerate of you, I am sure, Doctor,” Jacob observed gratefully.

“In the meantime, Mr. Pratt,” the physician enquired, replacing his watch in his waistcoat pocket, “can I be of any service to you? Your brother is a personal friend of mine as well as a patient, and I should like to show you any attention agreeable to you. Would you care, for instance, to see over one of our big hospitals?”

“I’m not keen about it,” Jacob admitted frankly. Doctor Bardolf smiled.

“Like your brother, Mr. Jacob,” he remarked, “you’re candid, I see. I’m afraid I sometimes let my professional predilections run away with me. I’ll send you cards, if you will allow me, for two clubs I think you would like to see something of, and if you’ll do me the honour of dining with me one night, as soon as your brother’s condition has shown the change we are waiting for, I shall be honoured.”

“Very kind of you—delighted,” Jacob murmured.

Whereupon the physician took his leave and was succeeded within a very few moments by Morse. The latter bowed to Jacob and rather ignored Felixstowe’s frivolous salutation.

“Mr. Pratt,” he begged, “can I have a few words with you on business?”

“Certainly,” Jacob assented. “That’s what I’m here for. Sit down, do.”

The secretary accepted an easy-chair but waved away the proffered cigar.

“I guess you fully understand, sir,” he began, “how important it is to keep your brother’s condition absolutely secret. The moment the change that the doctor is looking for takes place, we shall give it out that he has returned from the Adirondacks with a slight fever and is compelled to rest for a day or two. Until then, we’ve got to bluff for all we are worth.”

“I am rather taking your word for this,” Jacob said. “In my country, the stock market is not quite so sensitive as regards personalities.”

“Mighty good thing, too,” Morse remarked approvingly. “Down in Wall Street, some one only has to start a rumour that the chairman of one of the great railway companies is sick, and the stock of that company slides a notch or two before you know where you are. However, to return to my point,” he continued, leaning forward in his chair and becoming more earnest in his manner, “your brother, Mr. Pratt, is a very prominent figure in Wall Street. As his partner, you can form a pretty fair idea as to what his monthly profits are. At first he was absolutely driven by circumstances to be a large operator upon the stock markets. Nowadays, this has become one of his favourite hobbies.”

“Does he gain or lose by it?” Jacob enquired.

“He makes money,” Morse replied. “But then he never gambles—what we should call gambling in this country. He only deals in the sound things, and if the market sags he simply holds on. That brings me, sir, to the principal reason why I was glad to see you over on this side. Three days before he was taken ill, your brother cleaned up a little deal by which he made the best part of half a million dollars and opened a very large account in railroads. The last word he said to me on business was that he guessed he’d have to find the best part of a million dollars before he began to draw in the profits, for, owing to conditions with which you don’t need to worry, all railway stocks have fallen during the last two weeks.”

“I noticed that in the papers,” Jacob admitted.

“Last week,” Morse continued, “I went around to see the brokers, Worstead and Jones of Wall Street, and they agreed to carry over without hesitation. This week the differences come to six hundred and twenty-eight thousand dollars, and by an inviolable law of Exchange the money has to be found. The stocks, as you will see from the list which I have here, are the best in the States. Your brother himself knew that the recovery would not be till the beginning of next month. This illness of his was so unexpected, however, that he had no time to make any provision for paying these differences. We have a matter of seven million dollars on deposit at various banks in the city, but I can’t touch those amounts and no more could you, as they are part of Mr. Samuel’s private fortune. What I want you to do, sir, if you don’t mind being so kind, is to take up these differences this week, and if a further drop should take place before next settlement, you and I and Mr. Samuel’s legal adviser can apply to the Courts for a power of attorney.”

“I came over to help in every possible way,” Jacob reflected, “and I have credit for about that amount at the First National Bank. You want a cheque, then, for—”

“Dear me, no, Mr. Pratt!” the other interrupted. “I don’t figure in this. To-morrow, by the first mail, we shall get the stockbroker’s note showing the exact difference. If you will draw your cheque then, payable to the stockbrokers, they will give you a receipt. The moment Mr. Samuel can hold a pen, we can transfer the amount back again to your credit. The only point is that your cheque must be on an American bank, so that the actual cash can be handled.”

“As it happens, that can be arranged,” Jacob promised. “You can rely upon me, Mr. Morse.”

“That’s very kind of you indeed, Mr. Pratt,” Morse declared heartily. “I have a heavy mail to attend to this morning, so if you’ll excuse me I’ll be getting on with it now,” he added, rising to his feet. “I have ordered the car for you and Lord Felixstowe. You will find the chauffeur an exceedingly intelligent man, and he will take you around New York and show you some of the things you ought to see. I should suggest luncheon at the Ritz-Carlton or the Plaza.”

“That sounds all right,” Jacob assented. “I beg that you won’t worry about us. We can look after ourselves quite well.”

“And you’ll be back by four o’clock to see Doctor Bardolf,” Morse enjoined. “You won’t forget that he is an exceedingly punctual man.”

“We’ll be back on time without fail,” Jacob promised.

Jacob and his companion spent the morning very much in the manner suggested. The latter was much quieter than usual, so much so that in the lounge after luncheon at the Ritz-Carlton, Jacob commented upon his silence.

“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 massive 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 damned 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 assented, “but I’m one of those chaps with instincts, you know, and I’m damned 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.”