The Great Secret by Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

He offered me his hand as he climbed up into the dog-cart, which I pretended, however, not to see.

"Mind, I give you very little hope, Mr. Courage," he said. "I studied the case very seriously in London, and I perceived symptoms which our friend here has not yet had the opportunity of observing. My own opinion is that his time is short."

"I am sorry to hear you say so, doctor," I answered; "for I quite believe that you are in a position to know."

He blinked at me for a moment from behind his thick spectacles, and I fancied that he was going to say something more. Apparently, however, he changed his mind, and the carriage drove off. I made my way at once into the library. Mr. Stanley was still awaiting me.

"My mission," I announced, "has been a failure. He declines even to discuss the matter."

Mr. Stanley knocked the ash off his cigar and rose to his feet. His face showed neither disappointment nor surprise.

"The lady, I am afraid," he remarked, "will be sorry."

"It will be a great blow to her," I answered, "if he should die!"

Mr. Stanley shrugged his shoulders.

"He will die, and very soon," he declared. "You and I know that very well. You are a young man, Mr. Courage," he added very slowly, and with his eyes fixed intently upon me. "You have a beautiful home and a simple, useful life--a long one, I trust--before you! Mr. Guest is not by any means old, but he made enemies! It is never wise to make enemies."

"Is this a warning?" I asked.

"Accept it as one, if a warning is necessary," he answered. "Take my advice. If Leslie Guest, or the man who is dying upstairs, has a legacy to leave, let him choose another legatee! There is death in that legacy for you!"

"Death comes to all of us," I answered. "We must take our risks."

He picked up his hat.

"Number 317, was it not?" he repeated thoughtfully, "an unlucky number for you, I fear! ... By the bye, Mademoiselle is in the neighborhood."

"What of it?" I asked.

He looked at me long and curiously. Then he sighed and lit still another of my finest Havanas as he prepared to depart.

"You will be better off," he said, "without that legacy!"

CHAPTER XVI

I TAKE UP MY LEGACY